Tetch's Misadventures in Arkham
by Moonphase
Summary: Starting from when Jervis Tetch first arrived in Arkham after kidnapping Alice Pleasance, this story chronicles how Jervis developed from a man who had a breakdown to an insane psychopath...
1. Musings of a newborn hatter

**Thank you eeyop1428, for beta-ing this story :)**

**Warnings: This story contains violence and sadism (but nothing too extreme, don't panic), psychological suffering, lots of _Alice in Wonderland_ references and angst.**

* * *

Like anyone would be  
I am flattered by your fascination with me  
Like any hot blooded woman  
I have simply wanted an object to crave  
But you're not allowed  
You're uninvited  
An unfortunate slight.

(Alanis Morissette - _Uninvited_)

* * *

Jervis Tetch looked at the weirdoes and droolers he shared the room with.

Dear God, _how _had this happened?

One day he had been an ordinary man. He had a flat. He had a job. He would wake up and go to work five days a week. On weekends he would mull about the house in his easy clothes and read fantasy novels. Maybe watch a film in the local (and somewhat derelict - though charmingly so) cinema on Sunday nights (when the cinema would be largely void of happy couples and wild teenagers).

Yes, it had been lonely, but it had been ordinary. Now his life was a circus freak show, and not only was he lonely but also deeply frightened.

_'I could tell you my adventures, beginning with this morning... but it's no use going back to yesterday because I was a different person then.'_

He dimly remembered his trial. He guessed it had occurred a short time ago; though he was certain of nothing but of entering this place late last night. What he did remember of the trial was painful. Alice (it hurt just to think of her name) had not come to the trial in person to testify. He was considered too dangerous for her safety. He had expected to go to prison for kidnapping. (Again, he winced.) It hadn't _seemed _like kidnapping at the time.

He had tried to explain this to the police, the lawyers, the judge, and the jury. But no one understood. They all stared at him in confusion. But it was _easy_ for them. _They_ would all go home to their partners and children. _They_ had not experienced returning home every single day for eleven years and having no one there waiting for you.

Travelling alone.

Going for walks alone.

Eating alone.

Sitting alone.

Watching TV alone.

Reading alone.

Sleeping alone.

Waking up alone.

Everyday feeling a black hole growing wider in the pit of your stomach.

So _of course _they stared at him in bewilderment. Even though he had thought they were kindred spirits, even his Alice (wait – that was wrong, she wasn't "his")... even _she_ had not understood. She had been too bright for him. She was a soaring butterfly and he was a lowly worm. She had only pitied him – it was the only explanation he could think of. But he had loved her so. He still did.

And that was what hurt most of all: everyone who was meant to love him did not. It was as if he were cursed; as if he were born under a dark star.

He had not been able to explain these things properly, anyway. His mind had been a fog. One minute he was Jervis and then, suddenly, he became someone else; someone braver and more daring. Someone who, he thought, Alice could love. He wasn't a _total_ fool after all. He knew that she would not love Jervis for Jervis. His parents had not. His sister had not. And they, as family members, as blood relations, were supposed to offer complete unconditional love.

So how could someone like Alice love him? His beautiful, golden haired girl…why would she love someone she had no ties to, other than sharing a workplace with? Why would she love someone who even his parents could not love like they were supposed to?

To think, he was so unwanted, so _defected _in personality. He had almost fallen into complete despair, as he had all those years ago in his youth, but something inside of him had stirred. Something wanted him to fight for her. He began to understand that if he was so insignificant a person, the best option open to him was to change himself, to become a new and better personality all together.

He took the best qualities of her brutish mate: his bravery and his confidence. Billy had also been very good looking. Jervis could not make himself tall, dark and handsome, so he had gone for wearing a snappy outfit instead. But then Jervis had improved on these qualities. It was in this manner that he would win against Billy. So, on top of looking like a cool cat and being brave and confident, Tetch had also tried to portray himself as charming, tentative and, moreover, CONSISTENT. No one could ever say that he was not consistent. And these latter qualities felt more natural to Tetch anyway.

So he could not understand the rejection. It made no sense. He had worked it all out: the scientific formula, the mathematical equation, to make up her perfect beau. Yet Alice _still _did not want him; she had gone straight back to Billy.

Jervis forced his hands through his fine yellow hair, tearing it from its roots. He was so lost in his thoughts that he did not notice the tiny blood streams running over his head.

_No sense… Nonsense…All uncommon nonsense…_

It was in this confusion over the rejection that some sort of madness began to stir within Tetch. But he did not know this.

When the dark winged creature called Batman injured him so badly (not just physically) he was a blur of conflicting feelings. When Batman had said that he would have killed Alice he was shocked. He would never kill Alice! God knows he had waited for her for so, so long! Days and weeks and _months _of unrequited love aching in his chest – it had hurt so much! He would have died, simply put. Had he let Alice go he would have laid down on the floor and died. But then, that new personality, the one he had dressed himself in, _that_ would not have died. Its survival mechanism was too strong. He… It… _would _have killed her.

After the doors slammed shut, locking him in the police van, he was numb, fading in and out. ('_I wonder if I've been changed in the night? Let me think. Was I the same when I got up this morning? I almost think I can remember feeling a little different. But if I'm not the same, the next question is 'Who in the world am I?' Ah, that's the great puzzle!')_

When he had been questioned by officers and his lawyers he had struggled to explain, often falling into apathetic silence or hysterical tears. God, it had been so humiliating! All the police had scowled down at him, obviously viewing him in derision. Jervis Tetch: the loser, the freak, the weirdo; now he was also the madman, the lunatic, the psycho, and the stalker.

On top of all the people who had put him in this hell hole, he bet all of the old school, college, and even university bullies were watching the news and laughing. He could see them sitting with their lovers and children, pointing at his goofy, stupid face on the television screen and saying, 'I knew that freak! I always _knew _he was a freak!'

His mother would have died of shame, had she not already been dead. Damn it, he had just wanted to show he loved her! Was that wrong? Really, _so_ wrong? The flowers were perfect; he'd handpicked them all himself! They had cost a fortune. Then, putting them all around her apartment and stealing her keys to make a copy without her knowing (she mustn't have known, that would have ruined the surprise!) had taken effort. He would have appreciated it if someone had done that for him.

But all the police and their ilk had thought it was weird, obsessive, and even _perverse_.

_Tut, tut, child! Everything's got a moral, if only you can find it._

Of course there was a moral – a reason – a conclusion to be made. She had rejected him. Why? Why _had_ she, like all the others? Maybe it was because he had kept his own qualities? Maybe being charming, attentive, and consistent was wrong. Where had these so called positive attributes gotten him in life? Every successful person he knew was vicious and selfish.

Jervis dipped his head low. They all thought he was insane. Maybe if he just let go and let what happened… happen...

And with that, Jervis began to fade away. His head slumped forward. His shoulders became slack. Like the rest of his roommates he became another zombiefied drooler of Arkham Asylum.


	2. Dianosis Doctor?

_'But I don't want to go among mad people,' Alice remarked._

_'Oh, you can't help that,' said the Cat: 'we're all mad here. I'm mad. You're mad.'_

_"How do you know I'm mad?" said Alice._

_"You must be," said the Cat, "otherwise you wouldn't have come here..."_

_

* * *

_"Mr Tetch, Mr Tetch?"

Jervis raised his head.

Where…where was he?

A pretty young woman whose whole demeanour screamed "Professional" was looking at him intently. He was in an office, of sorts. Psychology certificates adorned the walls. Psychology books filed the shelves. He looked back at her. She was pretty, like a Fawn;she had big brown eyes, slightly honeyed skin and a short black bob. He smiled in spite of the melancholy that now was a consistent part of him, like a second skin. She smiled back, albeit a little stiffly. Her eyes were calculating.

"Do you understand why you are here, Mr Tetch?"

He paused. Now why was he here? He had been so certain…that time before now…he had been thinking about it…

"Mr Tetch? Mr Tetch?"

"Shut up!" He cried his face betraying no anger making him look curiously vacant, like he was a doll or a puppet, "I've a right to think said Alice sharply, for she was beginning to feel a little worried…" he trailed off nervously. _That _little addition to the sentence, he knew, was not normal.

If only he could remember why...It was meant to finish as 'think' wasn't it?

_Wasn't it?_

"Alright," continued the lady like nothing odd had happened. "How are you feeling at this moment?"

Jervis squirmed visibly in the chair. His feet didn't quite reach the floor. He kept his mouth resolutely shut; he could feel the words bubbling up in his throat, begging for release. He shook his head as she cocked her own to the side.

"What's wrong?"

"Just about as much right, said the Duchess, as pigs have to fly..." Jervis blushed and placed a shaking hand over his mouth.

The lady wrote something down on a pad of paper she had leaning on her knees and looked back at him. "Jervis there's no need for you to talk now, alright?"

He nodded, relieved.

"You understand you are Jervis Tetch? Just nod or shake your head."

He nodded furiously. Of course he knew who he was!

"Good," she continued. "My name is Dr Leland. I am a psychiatrist. You are in Arkham Asylum and have been here for a month."

Jervis gaped. An entire month? He was about to protest, to refuse to believe, but she held up her hand to silence him. He obeyed, of course. He always did what people wanted him to…apart from that one time…with...Alice..._his_ Alice...

"Mr Tetch. Jervis," her didactic voice shook him out of his reverie. "You do not remember much, if any of your incarceration here because you have been lost in your own mind. Sort of like a coma." She leaned forward. "I believe it was a reaction to you being under so much stress. You went to the recesses of your mind where it felt safe."

Jervis made no motion of agreeing or disagreeing with her theory, but it certainly sounded like something he would resort to.

"I believe, Jervis, that you are coming out of your inner sanctum bit by bit. Right now you cannot communicate appropriately," she smiled kindly, and it was a genuine one this time, "but you are getting better. And that's what really matters."

* * *

After he had left, (in cuffs and flanked by two hulking guards/interns) Dr Leland leaned back in her chair, analysing the man's strange behaviour.

They would have to be careful with him.

He was almost like one of _them_, what the media so fondly named The Rogue Gallery. They had made Arkham, nay, all of Gotham City famous. Well, 'famous' wasn't quite accurate either. More like rather _infamous_. Yes, the Rogue Gallery made Gotham infamous.

Poison Ivy, The Joker, Harley Quinn, Scarecrow, Harvey Two-Face and so on, all of them shared what Jervis was portraying; it was not so much a splitting of personality but a _fracturing _of an old one, like a broken mirror. What the general public and the media did not understand was that the Arkham's Rogue Gallery did not have known, studied illnesses (OCD, depression, and so on) in a typical sense. All of them had been officially diagnosed with schizophrenia, simply because the term was so broad and so misused and misunderstood. It gave the public a term to cling to (as long as things had names and titles people tended to relax a little more. Leland supposed it was because names and titles meant things could be categorised. Categories could be studied. Things are studied to be understood. In other words, giving the Rogue Gallery's illness a general title made people feel that there was some kind of control over the situation. Of course the reality could not be further from this hope.)

What the Doctors had ascertained was that all the villains suffered this aforementioned fractured self image, which resulted in severe mood disorders. The easiest way to think of it was that when they were happy, they became a embodiment of a happy creature, then when sad they would become a new persona, which had its own quirks and issues.

Therefore the only way to 'fix' the Rogue Gallery was to resolve each piece of their personality of its psychological problem and then glue them back together to make one whole person once more. The problem with this was that each personality would disappear into the mind and a new one would take over as soon as they were getting anywhere. It was like a merry-go-round. Jervis Tetch in their session had begun showing signs of doing just this.

The problem was, how do they prevent it from worsening? Tetch had been in a hospital bed for a month. Now and then they had put him in a common room with other safer patients, in the hopes he would wake up with company.

Luckily, this plan had worked.

Unfortunately, due to his crime, Tetch was doomed to be put on the same wing as the Rogues. He was too dangerous for other non-criminal patients to deal with.

However, Dr Leland was an intelligent and observant woman; it did not take a all her years of education and research to see that the Rogues all encouraged and worsened each other's illnesses. Since arriving and mingling together, every one of them (even the likes of the Joker, who were extreme to begin with) had descended further into the recesses of insanity.

Right now Jervis Tetch was a man who had, quite clearly, had a break down. It had been a flamboyant one indeed, but a (relatively) simple break down nonetheless. With rest and therapy (preferably cognitive-behavioural with Freudian subtext, considering the childish behaviour pointed towards childhood trauma,) he should, hopefully, improve.

The problem now was to convince her superior; Jeremiah Arkham.

* * *

"No, he goes to the C Block with the rest of them."

"But Sir," Leland argued fruitlessly against her boss. She had explained her musings, explained that Jervis Tetch was a low risk criminal… "Mr Tetch will become dangerous!" She pleaded. "He will not handle being with the Rogue Gallery…"

"Do not call them that!" Jeremiah Arkham barked, his glasses reflecting the dim light of his desk lamp. "It's unprofessional Leland!"

"He will either be killed," she ignored his outburst; "he'll kill himself and trust me he's clever enough to find away. Or, possibly worst of all, he'll become worse. Under stress he reverts to a more Neanderthal, Id-like state. That means more violence, higher levels of selfishness, lower level self control…."

"Do not explain to me Leland, I know what terms such as Id mean! How dare you patronise me!"

Realising she had pushed too hard Leland was silenced and listened to her boss.

"Tetch has to go to C block. If it comes out that we put him in a lower security area of the asylum, or with sick patients who were innocent of any actual crime, the media would destroy us. And it would get out, you know it would. All the turncoats and traitors that work within these walls…" He shook his head in disgust. "Tetch goes to C block. If he fails to be cured or becomes worse, I will consider it a failure on you and your colleague's behalf; you are the ones who are meant to be in control, not those animals."

As she often did, Leland left Arkham's office so angry and frustrated she felt near tears.

Hers was a thankless job.

"Fine," she decided, "well I suppose tonight, I'll be reading Alice in Wonderland…"

She was desperate to make sure Jervis to get better, even if that meant waging a one woman war on his brilliant but broken mind.


	3. Down the Rabbit Hole

_They're dreadfully fond of beheading people here; the great wonder is, that there's any one left alive!_

_After a fall such as this, I shall think nothing of tumbling downstairs!_

Tetch did not know what day it was when he was taken (in his opinion, _manhandled_) from his place in the Droolers common room and marched through Arkham to his new abode.

He looked at the orderlies on either side of him; they were tall, wide and brutish. Despite the Doctor's insistence that Arkham was for healing Tetch was already certain that they merely aimed to keep control over the inmates through intimidation and force. He had not told Dr Leland this – the last thing she needed to realise was that Tetch was developing a 'them and us' attitude.

Mind, there was hardly an 'us', just him.

He gulped, wondering how near he would be to the infamous Rogue Gallery. Over the last month (months?) his mind had cleared enough for him to understand how his crime had looked in court: he had dressed up (to the average Gothomite, he had dressed in pantomime. For him it had been a snazzy suit _inspired_ by the Mad Hatter); and he had manipulated the minds of 'innocent' civilians (who, in this day and age, was innocent? Apart from Alice, of course. But that was a digression Tetch did well to avoid).

And the final nail in the proverbial coffin? That he had been apprehended by Batman. And being apprehended by Batman meant being **brutally **beaten and humiliated – his name was dirt. People who were caught by the Batman would never recover. Jervis – even if he did get better (he had already improved so much – he was almost himself again) – could never return to a job involving electronics or brain matter. His education meant nothing now – it could no longer be of any use. He'd be lucky to end up working at a fast food restaurant.

He was pulled out of his inner musings by his surroundings. Where he had been before was how he'd imagined any psychiatric ward: the walls were that garish white (how was that supposed to help healing?), and while a few paintings had been placed sporadically about each living space, they were the sort of paintings you would expect to see in a general room: a bowl of apples, the British countryside, or a sunset. Despite half-hearted efforts the rooms were devoid of any life or character.

But now, _this_ was how he had imagined Arkham Asylum.

The walls were brick with no attempt to cover or paint over them. The floor was made of hard green and black tiles. And most noticeable was the change of doors. The area in which he had been before had wooden doors that were painted white. _These_ doors were heavy duty metal painted a vile green. And there were at least five heavy bolts attached to them, and two guards at each one.

I could escape from this place, Jervis immediately thought, becoming overwhelmed by the monstrous, prison-like aura seeping out of the walls and floor. All I need to do is make my mind control devices – if only I could find a way, I'm certain…

The logical part of his mind was telling him that he wasn't really thinking of escaping, of course not. That would be Bad, and Jervis Tech had done enough Bad things to last a lifetime.

Equally, another side of him, the terrified child-like side, insisted that this was actually Plan B, should anything go wrong in this place. It seemed that this side of him decided that there was no way it would lie down and let Jervis die in a place like this. The so-called Bad things were not so nefarious to deserve being incarcerated for five years (or ten?) in _this place_.

The orderlies had been silent throughout the whole trip, only nodding at the guards at each door they passed. But the tension built up through every corridor they walked and every corner they turned. Jervis felt like a child trapped between two angry parents. The tension was like a frigid static, humming in his ear, screaming for attention, for release…

"Where am I going?" he barked. He had meant it to be a polite question, but with all the pressure it came out quite loud, his English accent giving it an unintentional bite.

There was a momentary pause.

"Down to C Block," one of the orderlies answered.

"Well that doesn't mean anything to me," Jervis said. "Where am I going? With what people?"

Their extended silence was interrupted only by the rhythmic pounding of their feet on the obsidian green and black floor.

They came to a halt at a door. There were no guards on either side of it, but there was a small office with several television screens on one wall and five guards inside, all drinking what smelt like coffee, and all looking intense and in great need of sleep.

C-BLOCK

It was in yellow capital letters, painted on the wall. It was horrible.

"Who's this guy?" asked one of the guards, a tall African-American with – (oh dear God)– with a hook instead of a hand.

He came out of the office and looked down at Tetch.

"Jervis Tetch. Another one of Bat's…" answered the orderly, getting an immediate reaction from the guards.

They looked, somehow, even more grim and worn down.

"Another Bat Freak, huh?" This was another guard. He was ridiculously young looking. He could not have been any older than twenty-one. "Listen, pal." He prodded at Jervis's stomach with his baton, the snarling Gotham accent heavy in his voice. "No messing us around in there. We don't mother cuddle freaks like you, not like the doctors. Any messing and we'll put you in The Hole."

"T-the h-h-hole?" Jervis blushed and cursed his stutter.

The guard smirked, enjoying the little blond's fear.

"If you wanna know what The Hole is, piss me off just once, and you'll be there, pal."

"All right that's enough now, Hanson," interrupted the guard with the hook hand. Hanson stepped back into the office with his hollow eyed colleagues.

Tetch resisted the urge to rub his stomach. It's probably bruised, he moaned in thought. That jabberwocky… I mean, that horrible boy…

The guard punched in a code at the side of the door. It was the most up to date technology Jervis had seen in the whole place (in second place was the television screens in the office, which said it all really).

As soon as the doors slid open its electronic hum was overtaken by the sudden onslaught of sounds.

And what frightful sounds they were.

They came gushing out like the roar of a powerful wave – the insanity was tangible.

Jervis nearly fell to his knees as screams of anguish, anger and fear reverberated in his ear drums. But there was worse: over the screams was the sound of laughter; high pitched hysterical laughter.

Shaking profusely, he stepped backwards, shaking his head. His eyes were wide, the whites showing all around his irises. He looked like a frightened animal when it was about to die.

The guards were at once alarmed and alert at the change.

When Tetch had first walked in they had thought he was a kid; he was so short in height on top of the timid body language. Hanson had been within his rights to tease the guy. He looked so… ordinary and lame, nothing like Joker or Two Face.

Tetch was more like the kid who always got picked on at school, whose name no one would remember after ten years.

But now, like a typical Rogue Gallery villain, his fear revealed his craziness; the Rogue Gallery never seemed crazy at their most powerful or angry or content. Those times they were simply psychotic and in need of some tough love, or sometimes they were even just like average citizens. It was when they were scared that you could see the true depth of their madness.

And here was another one.

"Tetch, calm down!" one of the orderlies barked while trying to keep a grip on the increasingly hysterical patient. "We have to go in, there's a time limit to how long the doors stay open."

The guard with the hook hand hushed them before getting to his knees so that he was eye level with the hyperventilating Tetch. "Listen man," he began in a low baritone, "they see you scared, they'll kill after they've mind fucked you. Do you understand?"

He tried not to laugh at Tetch's offended and shocked face at the words 'mind fuck.' He really was like a child. But still, at least that hazy crazy look which he and the guards all recognised and feared had disappeared and clarity had taken over once more.

Tetch nodded slightly.

"Up straight," advised the guard, straightening Tetch up, "keep your eyes straight forward and your head up." He nodded to the orderlies and his colleagues. "Let's go."

As they walked in Jervis was dimly aware of the wide bullet proof windows of each cell; he would get no privacy here. The criminals yelled and hurled themselves at the windows, all wanting to get him, like wild animals after a kill. Ignoring the guard's advice (he couldn't help it), Tetch dropped his head and stared at the floor.

The guard could feel the orderlies tensing up either side of him; all the Arkham workers hated coming to this part of Arkham. It was like living in Hell.

Behind him all the guards were smashing their batons on the psychos' windows; yells of 'shut the fuck up' mingling with the random nightmare screams. He was pissed though. Tetch was doomed. They – the monsters in this place – could tell that the group had lingered at the door too long. They knew this guy had become scared. And now he was walking like a man going to his death; that alone was enough for them. The guard glanced to the side and saw Jonathan Crane staring at their inelegant procession; he wasn't screaming or yelling. He wasn't moving at all. He was just there like a statue, his pale eyes showing a spark of life as they focused on Tetch.

…A man walking to his death…


	4. Ligyrophobia

_"There's no sort of use in knocking," said the Footman ..._

_"...and that for two reasons. First, because I'm on the same side of the door as you are:_

_secondly, because they're making such a noise inside, no one could possibly hear you."_

_(Alice in Wonderland.)_

That night was one of Tetch's worst, and he had endured a LOT of bad nights in his lifetime; nights full of worry, fear, doubt and pain… lots of pain. Yet that first night in Arkham was like all of his worst nights rolled into one.

And it was all thanks to a single act the other prisoners had committed.

Tetch had just been pushed into his little cell. It was very plain; soft grey tiled walls, ceiling and floor. He had a small cot with two thin blankets to sleep with. No sheets or pillow cover. He assumed the prisoners received only supplies made of a thicker coarser material such as cheap wool because it would be harder for them to hang themselves with it. But still, it was pretty stingy all the same. The room was not particularly warm, either. There was no window to reveal the outside world (but then, that was no surprise).

On his bed was a grey jumpsuit; evidently these were his bed clothes. He looked nervously towards the giant window facing the hallway. No way was he getting dressed now! Someone was right opposite him (he did not dare look up and see who). Instead he pulled off his socks and shoes (they didn't even have laces, just Velcro, like a child's). The hallway had become very quiet, as though everyone was watching him.

As he began to lay out one of the blankets to lie on top of (he wasn't lying straight on the mattress, it had mysterious and foreboding yellow stains on it) he heard a few sniggers. Were they laughing at his attempt at normality? That he wasn't an animal like them? Well, maybe that was funny. Look at the situation he was in!

"**LIGHTS OUT!"** snapped a voice over the speaker.

Jervis was promptly plunged into a deep darkness. The place had been so brightly lit beforehand, the contrast now somewhat hurt his eyes.

At first it was so silent he could hear his heart pounding in his chest. Even the blood flow in his ears made itself known.

He climbed quickly into bed, breathing short, shallow breaths, and willing himself to remain calm and focused.

Then it started.

It was Scarecrow who got the ball rolling. He had been in an ecstasy of malevolence seeing that timid little thing being practically dragged through the halls. If Arkham was a jungle and the likes of the Joker were lions, then Scarecrow was a hyena. He was a cold hearted scavenger. And he was mean – even meaner than the likes of Two Face and Killer Croc. He was mean because he was physically weaker and nowhere near as psychotic as they were (some of the others were crazed to the point of being also suicidal). Scarecrow had to work a lot harder at staying moderately high on the Arkham Food Chain. And the new guy was clearly a bottom feeder.

He swaggered up to his window, with that strange, jerky, and oddly intimidating walk of his. The darkness did not bother him – it was an ally. Curling a pale hand, he took advantage of the ensuing silence by banging melodiously on the window.

Bonk.

Bonk.

Bonk.

It echoed through the darkened halls.

Bonk.

Bonk.

Bonk.

Bonk.

Haha! They were already responding! Credit where credit is due: when it comes to torturing someone, the Arkham inmates are as one mind.

At the same time, three or four of them banged on their glass screens:

BONK.

BONK.

BONK.

BONK.

Scarecrow withheld a snigger – he knew the Joker would be trying not to bust a gut.

Jervis gripped his blanket. What. The. Hell? Why were they all banging at their windows like that? Was it to some purpose? How long were they going to keep it up for?

He covered his ears but he still felt the vibrations strumming through his body. His bones shook. As it continued on and on, Jervis felt like it was sinking inside of him and violating his very soul.

"_God, please_," he thought desperately, "_please shut them up, please, please_."

Unfortunately God does not look down upon Arkham… or at least that was the general opinion of its occupiers. Arkham is strictly Satan's domain…

It carried on. And on. All of them were POUNDING on the glass walls now! Even the ones too stupid to understand were doing it.

BANG –

BANG –

BANG –

BANG –

All silent but for that rhythmic banging; it was like an army beating its war drums.

"_I have to do something_," Jervis thought desperately, "_I have to make them stop_."

Anxiously he got up and walked to his window. "Please," he muttered, voice lost in the din, "please stop, I cannot… I cannot sleep…"

BANG BANG BANG BANG

This probably was not a good idea. He'd watched prison films, like, that one by Stephen King... what was that called? Well he had seen it… at some point. And what he remembered was he ought to stay quiet. Stay quiet and deal with the torment. But then what if this happened every night? Would he ever sleep again?

BANG BANG

"Dear God, Tetch, calm down," he reprimanded himself, sinking to his knees and gripping his hair. "I need to get away…

BANG BANG

_"I need to escape… if only Alice loved me…"_

BANG BANG

_"...if only…"_

BANG BANG

_"Alice!"_

BANG!

"A childish story take and with a gentle hand," sighed Jervis, his eyes glazed over. He was sitting on the floor of his cell, gesturing to someone only he could see. "Oh dear, oh dear I shall be late! No that isn't right… now let me think… if only I had some tea…" Slowly the darkness of night began to fade away. Spreading his hands on the floor he could feel the soft caresses of grass blades. The wind blew his hair ever so lightly.

_Bang bang…_

That was an annoying sound… best just ignore it... and fade away to this... a pleasant place of light and air... No doubt that distant banging sound was the ringing of some annoying school bell...

It _was_ tea time of course.

"It's always tea time," he muttered, a sliver of saliva escaping his mouth as he looked blindly forward.

Scarecrow had stopped banging; most of them had, too, except for the idiots who were really getting too into it and now missing its purpose entirely. Jervis was muttering. With the noise it was too hard to tell whether he was whimpering or not.

Scarecrow smiled without humour. The kid's nerves had been shot to pieces already on arrival. He had clearly been daunted by his cell, intimidated by his fellow inmates, and then with the lights... Johnny had known something very small was needed to send the kid over the edge. And it had, on the first night in front of _everyone_.

He was as good as dead now.

They would mess with him for a bit and then wipe him out. Just like all the other pretenders, wannabes, and those unfortunate enough to be deemed dangerous enough for Arkham's C wing.

Johnny could smell the fear; it was like static, crackling in the air. If only he was in that little blond bitch's cell. To be able see his terrified face, his body trembling and twitching, cold sweat flattening his hair onto his forehead... To hear his terrified pleas for mercy, his gasps, his groans, his sighs of terror... Johnny loved the effects of fear on other people.

He could feel himself breathing heavily and he was beginning to sweat. He was unconsciously scratching at the glass. "C-can't get too… out of control," he whispered coarsely to himself. He slumped onto the floor similar to how Tetch had only recently.

Joker was beginning to make audible sniggers as the new prison bitch continued to frantically mutter in a high pitched voice.

Fear stretched out its dark, clammy, fingers and touched every object, including the shadows. The _poor_ little man practically radiated fear!

Leaning forward Johnny licked the glass.

God, fear tasted good.


	5. Pool of Tears

_'Have you guessed the riddle yet?' the Hatter said, turning to Alice again._

_'No, I give it up,' Alice replied: 'what's the answer?'_

_'I haven't the slightest idea,' said the Hatter._

_'Nor I,' said the March Hare._

_Alice sighed wearily. 'I think you might do something better with the time,' she said, 'than waste it in asking riddles that have no answers.'_

_( Alice's Adventures in Wonderland. Ch. 7 - A Mad Tea-Party.)_

Jervis sipped at his camomile tea. He could hear the nearby stream trickling in the distance. A melodious female voice was reading from a book. _Ah,_ Alice and her sisters. Jervis allowed himself a small smile. Alice would be so bored! She hated listening to all the sensible and moralistic stories her sisters would feed her. His smile faded. Sort of like the tales his father told him, the tales of the terrible things that happened to bad boys and silly girls... The trickling of the stream made him think of Alice... and a _moral _to be _found_...

Ah... oh dear. He had done something wrong. The grass was gone and he felt cold. What was happening? He was lying down and shivering.

_Why? __**Why?**_

A distant pounding began to thrum through the atmosphere. He tried to ignore it.

_Take care of the sense, and the sounds will take care of themselves_, he thought, attempting to sip some tea and ignore the far off drumming before realising he wasn't holding his cup anymore. In fact, his arms felt leaden, unable to hold a cup, if he had one, and he was lying down on his side. One arm was numb from being crushed between his immobile body and a cold, hard floor.

He tried to remember the taste of the tea, the scent of heather and gorse, the feel of the spring breeze caressing its fingers through his hair. But the memory faded. A horrible pounding resounded all around him as the pressure began to build inside of him again.

Jervis nearly wept once more. He wasn't in a beautiful garden in the country he was raised in. He was in Gotham. He was in Arkham Asylum. As reality slowly seeped into an unwilling and fragmenting mind, he acknowledged that he was lying on hard cement. The banging was no longer consistent. They were simply beating on their walls and windows like wild apes in a zoo. His body was covered in sweat. _Dear God_, he thought, _have they seen my reaction? Surely they know how weak I am now? If only I were more stalwart!_

Regretfully, he opened his eyes. Through pale blond bangs he saw a distant grin. The Cheshire cat? He sat up quickly and his heart stopped in that moment.

The Joker sat grinning in the hallway right outside his window. Joker placed one of his hands on the window, the palm facing Tetch, and the fingers stretched out. Jervis stared at it, fascinated. The fingers were freakishly long and thin. The skin itself was so pale it almost looked luminescent blue. The nails were long and slightly pointed. Slowly, Tetch looked back at the evil face, grinning like some cruel caricature of happiness. Only the Joker could smile in a way that told you he wasn't smiling at all. It was as intimidating and disturbing as hearing a mad man's scream.

The worst thing about this creature was his eyes. Everyone knew of the Joker's manic grin and ghastly skin, but his eyes were... completely normal. They were dark green and sparkled of a deep intelligence – that was the worst thing ever; the sanity present along with the wanton cruelty in these human eyes.

Leaning up against the glass the Joker's mouth began to move, but no sound came out. However, Jervis was able to lip read what he mouthed: "_Welcome. Home. Mad. Hatter_."

The Joker laughed as the blood drained from Jervis's face. Except that, like his smile, it wasn't really a laugh. The easiest way to explain it would be to compare it to the sound an animal makes before it's about to attack you; that awful sound that, regardless of what animal it is, you know that you will die a short time after hearing it.

Jervis fell down from his raised sitting position to his hands and knees, staring at the anomaly before him. He was terrified. _How did that... thing... even get out of its cell? Could they all escape that easily?_

As if sensing his thoughts, the Joker ceased his laughter and looked up. Jervis followed his eyes. He was looking at where the technological locking device connected his door to the wall. Looking back to Joker, frightened and feverish blue eyes locked with obsidian green. Cocking his head to the side like a bird, the Joker glanced to the right before standing up (_Dear God, he's so tall_!) and disappearing from view.

All the lights went back on and the beating of fists halted as guards began to stream into C-block, yelling and waving batons, and preparing to fire their tasers. The Joker must have heard them coming, but how he had over all the noise was anyone's guess. Jervis was not guessing though, despite how fond he was of riddles. When the guards looked his way he was curled up on the floor repeating lines verbatim from _Through the Looking Glass_.

Across the way and further down the right of the hall, Scarecrow watched intently as the guards stared into the new guy's cell. Now that silence was beginning to fall, the whispers of the pale haired man could faintly be heard. But what he was saying made no sense.

Aaron stared at the wide-eyed man. "Tetch?" he tried. He tapped on the glass of the cell with his hook hand, making Tetch wince. Tetch was on the floor in the foetal position, tugging on a strand of hair and muttering illogical things. "Tetch?" barked Aaron as all the other guards came and stared at the man as they would at some sort of exhibit.

Tetch raised his eyes to Aaron. Somehow, Tetch's face seemed even more childlike. "'Never imagine yourself not to be otherwise than what it might appear to others that what you were or might have been was not otherwise than what you had been would have appeared to them to be otherwise," Tetch stated.

"...What?"

"'You ought to be ashamed of yourself for asking such a simple question..."

In the background, Edward Nigma and Johnny Crane perked up. They recognised what Tetch was saying, or rather what he was _quoting_.

"Look, Tetch, get back to bed," ordered Aaron. The freaks were just too much sometimes, even for him.

"Shall we put him in the Hole, boss?" asked Hanson eagerly, scowling at the quivering mess called Jervis Tetch.

"No. Look, the others did something..."

"All they did was bang on the walls! Big deal! He's giving you lip!"

Aaron sighed and ignored the guard. Newbie hotshots like Hanson made his job as difficult as the Rogues did sometimes. "Tetch you can stay on the floor if you really want," he continued, while Hanson sunk moodily into the background, "but you _should_ go to bed." He turned to the rest of the inmates. "Any more noise from anyone and there will be no common room for a week!"

As the guards left, the inmates remained silent. They knew the guards would be sure to keep monitoring them all night now and no one wanted to lose out on visiting the common room. It was the closest thing they had to freedom.

The lights went out and Arkham was plunged once more into darkness.

Climbing into his pitiful excuse for a bed, Johnny sighed contentedly. Messing with the new guy, Tetch, no... Mad Hatter... would be fun. Johnny had to admit, even he had been slightly irked when the Joker stole out of his cell (which he did at every opportunity just to show that he could – the damned show-off) and had captured Hatter's attention. Joker always got _all_ the attention.

Scarecrow had gassed him once, trying to discover his fear, partly because he was simply curious and partly because he could have really used that kind of information to his advantage. After being sprayed, however, Joker just looked at him with that vacant grin of his. Crane had been hospitalised for two months after trying that little stunt. He had never challenged the Joker again.

As a result, there was no one else of interest in Arkham for Crane to test his theories on. Now and then he broke out and experimented on the teeming masses, but they were all so _boring_. Tetch, however, was clearly a very strange creature. A creature that was enslaved to fear! Crane shuddered pleasurably at the mere thought.

The last sound of the night rang out. It was the soft English voice of Tetch declaring, "If I had a world of my own, everything would be nonsense. Nothing would be what it is, because everything would be what it isn't. And contrary wise, what is, it wouldn't be. And what it wouldn't be, it would. You see?"

Crane smirked. All of C-block understood that desire.


	6. The Man who wasn't There

_As I was walking up the stair  
I met a man who wasn't there.  
He wasn't there again today.  
Oh, gee, I wish he'd go away._

**(William Hughes Mearns, originally...)  
**

* * *

**The memoirs and continued studies of Jonathan Crane and his co-dependent SCARECROW**

6/12

Incarcerated: Day 95

Well, new bait has entered these stone walls. It is another example of my intuitive wisdom to not try to escape yet. The dregs of Gotham society are not worthy of being participants in my psychological profiling and testing.

The man to arrive is the one known as the **Mad Hatter** (*see included newspaper article*). – _Peter, Peter, pumpkin-eater, had a wife and couldn't keep her! –_

As ever, I, Doctor Crane, predicted they would send this man (birth name: Jervis Tetch) to our humble abode.

It is currently five-thirty AM.

The subject crawled into his bed approx. 33 mins ago. He is very intriguing. The first test was a complete success – _He put her in a pumpkin shell and there he kept her __**very**__ well_ – My hypothesis that his dissociative disorder was being triggered by stress and FEAR was completely accurate.

But I am not arrogant.

I will consolidate this diagnosis by continuing a series of psychological tests. As the subject is most likely to be killed in the next few days, I shall make them very intense – _Here comes a CHOPPER to Chop off your HEAD_ – the best part of my week will be focused on watching and taking notes on the 'Hatter'.

As I do not want to be dragged down the Arkham hierarchy by his reputation, I shall conduct my tests from afar, therefore using the behaviourist observational approach.

Hypothesis: Hatter becomes dissociative during stressful situations and FEAR – c_hip chop chip chop – the Last Man's Dead – _also, being in a place like Arkham where stress and anxiety is high due to all the violent thugs, his disorder will become worsened. Eventually the socially created 'Tetch' will disappear and his **TRUE animus personality** (like my beloved **Scarecrow**) will come out in all its glory. It is a seed to be nurtured – _It's raining, it's poouuriiiiing –_

Confounding variables: The damn 'doctors' of this place will no doubt be force feeding him drugs. On top of that, I have to contend with Leland trying to 'cure' him. This will slow my test down and make it inaccurate.

Procedure: To make as many enemies for Tetch as possible. To put him in as many anxiety inducing situations as possible. Perhaps use Joker (who has taken a vague interest), Killer Croc (who is always keen for someone to intimidate) and maybe Scarface (for the same reasons – _ring-a-ring-a-roses –_).

My belief is that Tetch will either:

Kill himself within a few days – _Ladybug, ladybug, fly away home –_

Become 'Mad Hatter'

Get killed – _Your house is on fire, your children are gone –_

In any case this is a golden opportunity to examine how many of us in Arkham develop these 'ultimate personalities' and if they (as I believe) are actually beneficial for us, for with these new 'characters' we can break out of social norms and acquire what we really want without FEAR of social exclusion. Some call it psychopathy – _Your house is on fire, your children are gone –_

I call it POWER – _up above the WORLD SO HIGH –_

Carl Jung believed – _like a diamond in the sky –_ that the archetype category he called **THE SHADOW** was a reflection of darker selves and that this needed to be accepted and merged with our light selves which he called the' ego'. I go one step further and ask: **Why not ****become**** THE SHADOW?**

It is stronger than the socially constructed ego. My experiment at becoming **SCARECROW**, an archetype which belongs to SHADOW, has been, to my mind, a complete success – _a pocket full of roses_ – The fools who had put me in this prison are too AFRAID! I SPIT ON THEIR PATHETIC MINDS! ESPECIALLY LEEEELAAAND! – _**TAKE THE KEY AND LOCK HER UP!**__ –_

It's only because of the drugs they force feed me that 'Crane' still exists – _**CUT OFF THEIR TAILS WITH A CAAAARVIIIING KNIFE**_**! **–

Crane, who is _weak_. Crane, who I **hate**. But if I try out a few experiments on a fellow man that is becoming his **SHADOW** entity, then maybe I can find a way of making 'Crane' become **SCAREEEECROOOOOWW** once and for all.

**IT IS CRANE WHO IS THE USURPER – SCARECROW IS RULER – SCARECROW IS REAL.**

They say he isn't real. That he is a part of 'Crane'. But that is incorrect. And I shall prove that by using mister 'Jervis Tetch' with impartial, scientific testing.

He should thank me.

I'm gonna make him what he **really wants** to be!

**THERE IS NOTHING TO FEAR BUT FEAR ITSELF – **_**WHEN THE BOUGH BREAKS THE BABY WILL FAAAAAAAAAAAALL! **__–_


	7. Good mooorning Arkham!

_'I don't think they play at all fairly,' Alice began, in rather a complaining tone, 'and they all quarrel so dreadfully one can't hear oneself speak — and they don't seem to have any rules in particular; at least, if there are, nobody attends to them.'_

(Alice in Wonderland. Ch. 8 The Queen's Croquet-Ground.)

"Alice? Alice? Where is Alice?" Jervis Tetch slowly opened his dark blue eyes.

The lights were on. Was it morning? He supposed it was. Time, in terms of months and days, had become a vague concept for Tetch the moment he had been rejected by Alice, but now in Arkham even the hours were something he could not understand or track anymore. Like the rest of the inmates he would become totally dependent on his prison timetable and the guards to regulate his day for him.

A little bit of pale blue natural light shone through heavily barred windows placed in the corridor ceiling. In the time he would spend at Arkham, Tetch would come to love the few rays of possible freedom those windows offered; they reminded the Rogues of the world outside, of the lives they once had, of the people they left behind, and of the lives they could have had had they made different choices. Even the unsentimental ones like Nigma and Dent could not help being moved when, in the dead of night, the weak light of the moon's rays reached in and caressed their dark world.

The only one who was genuinely never touched was the Joker (not that that would have surprised any of the inmates) because he had no past, no one waiting for him, nor had he, as far as anyone could tell, a future or an alternative to his current fate...

Tetch did not feel as though he had slept and, truthfully, he hadn't. He had merely been in one of his trance-like states -– trapped in a world between memory and imagination. In this place, the Jabberwocky had been after Alice. Poor Alice had run up the stairs into the dusty and dark safety of the attic. The Jabberwocky had screeched in anger and breathed fearsome fire whilst stomping around the landing beneath her, sniffing, searching for a child to eat. However, the Jabberwocky was not clever enough and had soon gone away to look for other, _weaker_,prey... Alice had let out a quiet sigh of relief. But then the grinning teeth of the Cheshire Cat had lit up in the shadow followed by its sly green eyes.

And that was when Tetch had awoken, muttering the words of a life he had almost forgotten. Slowly he lifted himself up. "I think, I think I am quite myself today. Had I seen the Cheshire Cat last night? Can I be sure I had?" he wondered, remembering a wide grin and clever, remorseless, green eyes. He shook his head. "No Tetch, you're being silly. There was no cat; it was all just a dream. I often see a cat without a grin, but a grin without a cat? Nonsense and balderdash. They all got to you last night; that is all. I got scared. But today is a new day. I'll just start again."

Though the natural light was sparse, the guards did not choose to bother themselves with switching on the lights. Marching into the hallway, they slammed their batons against the windows ordering the patients/prisoners to get up and ready for the showers. Looking out, Tetch immediately noticed the different manner in which each prisoner was treated. Whilst most of them men whom he did not recognised were called scum and literally dragged out of their cells and down the corridor, ones like the Joker were merely flanked.

A baton slammed against the enforced glass making him leap back in alarm.

A big and burly guard glared at him. "Who are you?" the man barked.

"I-I am Jervis Tetch..."

The guard looked even angrier, "Who do you think you're talking to?"

"What do you...?"

"Do **not **interrupt me while I am speaking!" Spittle spattered onto the window. A few other guards came over to the window, all with a strange, feverish hunger in their eyes. They looked like hyenas crowding around an injured antelope. "You speak when I tell you to speak, boy! Do you understand?"

Tetch faltered for a moment before stammering out a, 'Yes, Sir.'

"What was that?"

"Yes, Sir."

Tetch was no stranger to being treated like a child (thanks to his short height, the faint freckles that appeared in the summer on his nose and cheeks, and his wide eyes), but this was intolerable! Still, he knew he had no choice but to go along with it. His heart sank as his short-lived optimism drained away.

"Stand up straight!" The guard looked him up and down, his lip curling. "You listen here, I am in charge and I'm the top daytime guard. My name is Mr Cocksmore, but you will call me _Sir_. You piss me off, just once, and you're in the hole. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Why are you such a mess? And not in your bed clothes?"

One of the other guards laughed cruelly before Tetch could formulate an answer. "Dear God, 'e's wet 'imself, look!" All eyes trailed down to his wet trousers, especially focused on the crotch. Tetch resisted covering himself up. For the love of the White Queen... when had his life come to this? The only one who wasn't laughing, or even smiling, was Cocksmore.

"You dirty little piece of filth.." His quiet voice silenced the loud guffaws of his men, sounding like the hiss of a deadly but hidden snake. Jervis began to step further into his cell as Cocksmore punched in a code and swiped his electronic card to get into the room.

"All you things are the same; filthy animals lying about in your own excrement. You deserve to be fried." Cocksmore was now in the cell, his huge figure towering over Tetch. "But you can't be executed because you are _'unwell_.'" Cocksmore grabbed Tetch's face, turned it up, and spat in it before continuing his vitriol. "A waste of the taxpayer's money. _We_ have to pay for scum like you! But don't worry, I'll make sure that you," he leaned closely to Tetch, still holding his face so tightly that the skin was going to be bruised, " don't even last a month in here." He flung the man back, and Tetch fell against the wall so powerfully that the back of his head began to bleed. "You go and have a shower! As you are so fond of your daytime uniform you can wear it all day so everyone can see that you've pissed yourself!" He exited the cell, leaving two of his men to haul Tetch out and march him towards the showers. No one mentioned his bleeding skull.

The walk down the hallway was lost on Tetch. He never noticed the careful watching eyes of his fellow inmates; he was too focused on his head and wiping away the spit from his face. It was unbelievable that the guards could get away with treating him like this, and get away they would because even if he told the doctors, everyone knew that no one wanted to work in Arkham. Despite the fact that Gotham was drowning in debt and had soaring unemployment rates, Arkham had to constantly search for new guards. The abusive guard would not be fired and replaced. Really though, he had been stupid to be too timid to change last night, having no privacy in this place. He gulped, suddenly wondering if the prison showers would be open. It was like he was a gawky teenager back in high school, terrified of the lurching bullies and the humiliating showers...

Of course it was an open shower.

Five inmates went in at each time and an armed guard stood at each corner of the room, just out of the way of the shower heads. Tetch joined the end of a line of men. He wondered who the man in front of him was, all he could see was red-brown hair and that the man was tall and slim. He heard scuffling behind him; more inmates had joined the line. He stared resolutely ahead, not wanting to satisfy his curiosity, turn around, only to get punched in the face by some angry Rogue...

"Oh my, he- he's bleeding!"

"WHO THE HELL CARES DUMMY?"

Tetch turned around and was greeted by a sweet looking old man.

"Ah-he-hello" he stammered making a small smile appear on Tetch's face. "You look unwell...erm, m-maybe I can h-help?"

"How?" whispered Tetch, frightened the guards would hear; he was more scared of them than the other prisoners at this point in time.

Suddenly, the old man looked at Tetch in the eye and smiled. Something in Tetch's manner must have put him at ease. "I have all sorts of bandages, for situations such as yours, I too am quite clumsy."

"Yes... clumsy... when can you bandage me up?"

"At breakfast, after we shower and dress."

"Thank you!" Tetch suddenly felt tearful; typically he was quite reserved, but the last few hours, nay the last few months had been so full of cruelty and rejection, he had almost given up on humanity.

He undressed without looking at anyone and stepped into the showers. It was a silent and tense affair. He could feel the eyes of the other inmates and guards boring into him. Why did they hate him so much? What had he done to deserve so much attention? His skull ached terribly and the occasional splashes of water made the wound sting dreadfully. Just as he began to wonder when he should leave, a guard screamed, "CHANGE!"' Following the other inmates, Tetch walked to the side where it was dry and was handed a towel. It was very thin and had a strange texture; it managed to be greasy and spiky but also somewhat crusty with age. It had almost no absorbency and his skin was left raw and red from scrubbing the water away so aggressively. Wincing, he stepped into his old uniform, the stench of sweat and urine making his nose tingle. He hoped the old man was still kind enough to bandage him up at breakfast even though he stank.

Unfortunately for Tetch, someone had overheard his conversation with the old man, and an evil plan was just then being brewed...


	8. Breakfast at Arkham's

"You tell anyone of the punishment we dish out to you or if you go crying to your babysitter, Leland, I swear to God," the young guard leaned down to the little blond's level, forcing Jervis to look into his bloodshot, light brown eyes, "I swear to God we will kill you. Get in."

Tetch stumbled into the cafeteria after being given his 'talking to.' He hadn't done anything wrong, and he was wearing dirty clothes on top of having his hair still smattered with his own blood; had he not been punished enough? It seemed hardly fair that the likes of Harvey Dent and the Joker were treated with a modicum of respect, when they had terrorised Gotham and actually killed people. However, Tetch was going to learn quickly that morality meant nothing in Arkham. He was now in hell, which meant the badder and meaner you were; the better life got for you.

"In all fairness what did you expect old boy?" he thought mournfully, "I'm a criminal, a Batman- incriminated criminal; of course they'll treat me badly. I'm not sure what I had been expecting." He gulped, stopping his train of thought there. Tetch knew that his life was now ruined; his reputation would be in tatters, he was unemployable, and so he could not even do his time, leave and start his life anew. Truly, he would have been better off dead...But after the high amount of mental trauma he'd experienced over the last twelve hours, he could not have his treacherous mind slapping reality in his face. Not now.

He almost laughed at the cafeteria; it looked like a typical high school eatery, the illusion only dissipated when he noticed the armed guards standing in each corner. Long, fold out tables made out of cheap plastic made neat little rows, emphasising the overall lack of individuality and character; looking around, Tetch could hardly distinguish between each prisoner, almost all of them wearing the ugly orange jumpsuits, all most were heavily built, ugly with shaved heads or cropped hair, many of them had a scar or two, but because so many of them did, it still did nothing to differentiate one from his neighbour. All of them sat huddled up, the chairs being pushed closely together to make up for the obvious lack of space.

He slowly inched towards where the food was being served, cautiously stealing glances at his new neighbours and trying to find the kindly old man. "He can't be kindly, he's in here." Tetch bit his lip. "And someone had yelled something mean at him when he noticed I was bleeding, but no one was there when I looked..." Once more, Tetch initialised his talent for ignoring reality. He wanted the man to be kindly, and that's what he would insist he was. Besides, the guards were clearly not going to do anything for his injured head.

Arkham was clearly a filthy place, and Tetch was rightfully distressed at the thought of having an open head wound to get infected at any time. "Its survival," he thought, looking at the food on offer (and noticing that all the catering staff stood behind not only a food counter, but a reinforced glass wall, like what they had at banks.) "I can't rely on the guards, and as for Leland...I'm not sure. She'll probably not believe me. And I don't want them to put me in the Hole." He had no idea what The Hole was, but he imagined the title was self explanatory, plus this place was bad enough so whatever these people thought was a punishment would probably be something that could kill him. Unconsciously he patted the back of his head, making him wince. The back of his skull was very hot and sore; he could even feel the skin throbbing a little. His thin, silky hair was glued together with blood and gore, it not being washed in the shower due to the pain. He frowned; focusing on the greyish mush he assumed was mashed potato. ("Who eats mashed potato for breakfast?") His hair was the only part of his physical appearance he liked.

His frown abruptly became a smile.

It was his favouritest part because it looked like Alice's...

"Hey! Are you moving or what?"

Snapping out of his fragmented reverie, Jervis looked up to see a tall (if not gangly) brunette glowering at his with sharp green eyes.

"MOVE!"

"Oh, s-sorry!" Jervis's confounded stutter returned, making him blush and the other man smirk. Hastily he added various coloured slop onto his tray before scampering away.

"Right...ah...the ever painful 'where do I sit?' situation."

As he looked out for the old man (this time openly) he failed to notice a certain mister Crane stride up behind him until said man pulled some of his bloodied hair out.

"Ow!" Tetch looked at him, the small glint of defiance and anger dying within a mere second. Crane smirked once more putting the hairs in his pocket..._cute_...

"I think that man," he pointed his long, knobbly finger t o where the ventriloquist sat eating as anxiously as a bird out in the open, "is the one you're looking for."

"Erm yes thank you, mister...erm..."

"You don't know who I am?" A sinister head cocked to the side, green eyes never leaving the blond's face.

"N-no, I'm a-a-afraid."

Crane grinned toothily at the small mans frustrated and embarrassed flush, "good. That way," the grin was replaced with mock hope, "you won't prejudice against me. Well, toodle pip and all that."

"Ah, erm yes, g-goodbye." Tetch managed to force out the stumbling sentence, all the while holding back a retort that no one said 'toodle pip' as a farewell in Britain, but he, correctly, assumed the man was mocking him. Jervis made his way to the kindly old man remembering how in school, as scary as the 'jocks' and 'popular crowd' (often who were self titled the popular crowd, considering they were not universally loved or even well known, just a rabble of bullies in nice clothes,) were, it was actually the snide remarks of the alternative cool kids that unnerved him the most; kids who were like that mean, tall man.

The kindly old man sat quite separate from the other prisoners. Sitting opposite, Jervis smiled tentatively and visibly relaxed when it was returned. "I should bandage you up, eh?"

"Yes plea-"

"No, dummy! Don't go near 'im! He's a loser! "

Jervis blanched. "Erm- wh-who said th-that?"

"Who said what?" the old man asked, whilst laying out various bandages on the table; apparently he hadn't heard a thing...

"Erm nothing." As quickly as he had paled, Tetch now went blushed horribly, was he hearing voices was he going insane! Well, yes, he was going insane; he was in a MENTAL INSTITUTE! Slash that, a notorious mental institute for the criminally insane! But still, as much as his personality was evidently fracturing (though at times, Tetch felt more like he was simply _disappearing_) he had never heard voices before.

Whilst experiencing this internal meltdown, the old man expertly wrapped his head in gauze and bandages, chatting all the while.

"You'll need to get this wound looked at, because of infection, and it might need stitching, but don't worry, the doctors are very professional and know how clumsy some of us can be. And the nurses are very kind down there..."

"Listen dummy, you should kill 'im! Strangle 'im wid da bandages!"

Tetch leapt to his feet and stared at the man.

"S-s-someone said something! I know it!" His voice was high and frightened and unintentionally bringing him a lot of attention. Tetch pointed at the man and hysterically accused, "you're going to kill me!"

The old man blinked before pushing his glasses further up the bridge of his nose, "I think you are a little unwell," he said very reasonable, so reasonably that Jervis was almost ashamed. "It's alright; many of us think people are going to hurt us in here. But I'm a good man." He fumbled with the roles of bandages in his hands, giving off the air of embarrassed modesty, "I really shouldn't be here..."

"**KILL HIM**!"

"Who said that?" Tetch looked about wildly, everyone was grinning as if the whole ordeal was somehow hilarious. "Please don't kill me!" He called out to the general crowd. It was at this plea that made the Joker, followed by a number of the more hardened criminals, almost fall out of his chair in hysterics. Jervis noted the tall, brown haired man from earlier; he was observing Tetch like a child does a bug in a jar, a grin etched on a diabolical face.

Crane was ecstatic; it was all going to plan. Stupid ventriloquist didn't even realise he was doing Scarface's voice. Four months ago, after Arnold Wesker had been returned to Arkham thanks to the spandex-loving brat named Nightwing, the Doctors had decided it was best to no longer go along with his puppet-obsessed whims; they had finally worked out (years after most of the Rogue Gallery) that giving Wesker a puppet was the same as giving Crane fear toxin ingredients. Wesker was, despite appearances, a very, very dangerous man and it was that puppet that served as his weapon; with that puppet, Wesker could kill a man with his bare hands. What the doctors did not think of, (a typical mistake Crane had noticed and was currently using to his advantage with Tetch) was that insanity within the Arkham inmates tended to evolve. Right now, as far as anyone could tell, Wesker did not even realise that he was speaking as Scarface and therefore revealing his true self (_'thheee ssshadoww animussss'_ Scarecrow hissed.)

When Crane overheard their conversation whilst lining up for the showers, he also heard Scarface voice his displeasure at Wesker helping Tetch. Scarface tended to be insanely jealous of anyone who Wesker befriended, but Scarface, like most people's (what Crane liked to call with his increasingly confused psychology terms) animus', was more honest and intelligent than his carrier. Any fool could see associating with Tetch was suicide; Tetch was lowest of the low, a bottom feeder. So, just before breakfast, Crane had stood behind Wesker and whispered: "Tetch has been marked by the Joker; whoever gets him first gets to go with Joker when he gets bored and breaks out if here."

Wesker hadn't reacted at all; he had stood stock still, even while Crane slunk away. That was because Wesker hadn't heard him but his more powerful, internal persona _had_. This little push was all that was needed to get Scarface to actively wish for Tetch's death; Scarface was, essentially, little more than a small time gangster, he had no elegance, no extravagant goal or point to prove, and no vision. He relied on the weak and ineffectual Wesker which did him little good in trying to escape Arkham which, despite the media's belief, was _not_ easy. People like Scarface and Killer Croc and Penguin were, when incarcerated, stuck where they were. It was the likes of Joker and Scarecrow who, with aggressive intelligence and the indescribably strong and forceful drive to commit certain criminal acts, could pull a Houdini and escape somewhere as high security as their little asylum. All of this meant two things, one that Scarface relied heavily on the more creative cons to get out of tough situations, and secondly that he was very, very easy to manipulate; everyone had seen, or by now at least heard that Joker had paid the blond mans cell a visit last not; it wasn't a stretch to imagine that this was a sign or permission to torture and kill the kid.

The last part of his plan relied on Tetch's naivety. Stupid little Tetch seemed to not recognise many of the inmates, which was hardly surprising, many of them wore masks, and Wesker himself was possibly one of the most boring, generic looking old men he'd ever set eyes upon. However, Crane needed to make sure.

Sidling up next to the small man and breaking him out of what seemed to be a daydream, he had ascertained that Tetch had no idea who he was. This was excellent; if he did not know who Crane was, he certainly would not recognise Wesker. It had been after he confirmed his theory that he pointed out Wesker to the grateful Tetch...who now was standing in the middle of the hall full of laughing criminals screaming at Wesker not to kill him.

Had Crane **not** been a psychopath, he would have found it sad...


	9. Hair

**How doth the little crocodile...**

**How doth the little crocodile**  
**Improve his shining tail,**  
**And pour the waters of the Nile**  
**On every golden scale!**

**How cheerfully he seems to grin**  
**How neatly spreads his claws,**  
**And welcomes little fishes in,**  
**With gently smiling jaws!**

* * *

Jervis, from the outside, seemed like a successful man. He seemed quite brave and had his whole life ahead of him. He had arrived in America seven years ago, a highly recommended neurologist who had just finished his post graduate in Oxford University. He quickly rose in the ranks of one of America's finest organisations, Wayne Enterprises, and even had an entire lab and staff created for him and his experiments involving neurological transmissions.

It all looked very appealing in Times Magazine, but all those who met Tetch quickly realised the truth: his chronic stutter, his bashful face and child like behaviour. Tetch was the sort of man people disliked or treated with the same patronising tone children hated.

Deeper still was the unhappiness. Tetch was always unhappy, always. Long ago, during sometime within his mysterious childhood, Tetch went down a hole. He went down so deep that he now stood in that darkness, unable to come out, the world and normal interaction seeming like a far off, vague light that he could never reach.

Hiding in his books, Tetch related most to Alice in Wonderland. Poor Alice always got the rules wrong. She did not understand. Tetch understood that feeling of confusion and loss. It was one reason why he loved Alice Pleasance – it was like a sign. Alice was the bridge, something that connected the real world (an outgoing, bubbly young receptionist, owner of a small flat and hoping to get a car) to the fantasy world (she looked like Alice, she even shared the name of the real Alice Lewis Carol based his protagonist on). Tetch still got it wrong; it seemed he was too far in the hole even for Alice... even for Alice...

Looking around and seeing these... people laughing and hearing this voice shouting at him, Tetch did not understand; he still did not understand. The guards were approaching, anger etched into their faces. Oh God, they were going to hurt him, but he didn't do anything wrong! Why? Why was this happening?

"I'm sorry!" he cried. "I'm sorry, please, I'm sorry..." But his litany mattered not. The batons crashed down onto the kindly old man, who had been standing with a slightly confused expression on his face. He was immediately knocked unconscious by the guards. Tetch himself was not hit but held down to the floor, several yells of "Calm down! Calm the fuck down!" frightening him even more. The other inmates were reacting, if the scraping of chairs and yells of indignation and amusement were anything to go by.

"Oh God, they're gonna riot! They're gonna riot! Stan, no!"

"Oh God!"

"HAHAHAHAHAHA!"

Tetch was being crushed into the ground by the guards. It hurt... Hard... to... breathe...

"GET BACK, GET THE –!"

"_Please, O' White Queen,"_ he prayed in his mind, his lungs being crushed, _"please save me..."_

"GET THE CATERING STAFF AWAY FROM THE WINDOWS! OH SHIT!"

Tetch remembered living with the White Queen. His eyes began to water and he felt cold... The White Queen... she sat in her icy throne, beautiful and painful to the touch... What...? Was that right...? Was that the White Queen?

"PUSH THE ALARM, WE NEED MORE MEN! OH GOD!"

The weight became even heavier. A high pitched alarm began to scream over the sounds of crashing, banging and shouting.

Tetch was no longer able to breathe. However, he did not struggle out of his predicament for he no longer recognised that he was in it. Tetch was elsewhere...

* * *

Scarecrow had to give credit to the guards. Whilst they did not take Tetch seriously they recognised when someone like Scarface was going to kick off. If Scarface was threatening death on someone you could bet he was going to do it. And that, of course, would lead to a chain reaction of murderous inmates all slaughtering each other. The guards hated the fact that all these criminals ate together, but the doctors had insisted. It was supposed to help them all relate to other humans and more fit for a social society. Crane smirked. He had often heard the guards moan that maybe if the Docs had to watch over these freaks then they wouldn't be so keen on 'inter-patient socialising'.

It hadn't taken much to get them all going. Tetch was reacting fantastically to Scarface but it was the guards who kicked off the violence. As usual, instead of simply separating and trying to calm down both parties, they panicked and knocked out the one they were most terrified of. In mock anger, the rest of the inmates had leapt up in protest of such rough treatment. The Joker had headed the revolt whilst the likes of Two-Face headed towards the door. How many would manage to escape in the upcoming confusion? One or two at least, though literally hundreds would be running through Arkham within minutes, slaughtering any innocent they come across.

It would be pandemonium for hours yet.

Staying close to the walls and avoiding the hurtled furniture and food, stealthy as a snake, Crane crept towards the kitchen doors. They were all key coded, but swiping a card key from a dead guard was not difficult in the medley, and every criminal had memorised the code the guards punched into the devices, partially because they were simple and easy (much like the guards) and partially because they themselves were clever enough to have paid attention. It was hilarious how badly the Rogue Gallery was underestimated. Ideally, the key codes should have been at least twenty five digits long, each door having a different code (as opposed to every other? section of Arkham) and changed every day, but then the guards would not have been able to follow it themselves.

In the kitchen, staff screamed and ran from him. He ignored them, instead pulling out the long, blond wisps of Tetch's hair. They were so long and pale, clumped together by blood. It reminded Crane of when he was seven and his neighbour's dog, a Yorkshire terrier that answered to the title of Froufrou. Young Crane, ever the inquiring mind, had wanted to test if dogs could land on their feet. Apparently cats could, and dogs were smarter than cats as they could follow human instruction. In any case, as his seven year old self looked at the terrier's long, blood soaked fur (ignoring a screaming neighbour and his placating mother – "_It had only been a dog"_), he had marvelled at how thin and delicate each hair was. And Tetch's were the same.

He smelled them quickly and resisted the urge to lick them. Maybe he'd keep one or two for himself... Maybe.

Leaving out the back door of the kitchen and heading down towards the Hole, Crane smiled at the fools who called him a psychopath. He, quite obviously, wasn't. Psychotics killed and maimed animals before moving on to people. Crane simply experimented like lots of scientists. Yet all those scientists were not called psychopaths, were they? Well, when his research came to light he would get all the adequate praise he deserved. Heck, he would go down in history! His smile, which had almost made him look handsome, faded into his usual evil smirk. That would show all those that laughed and bullied him! True, he had tracked down, tortured and killed most of the people that were mean to him throughout life (Crane had an excellent memory) and as of yet no one had spotted the link between most of his victims ("_Random killings of Gothomites, sure, sure..."_), but the hurt was still there. Each kill had given him a temporary feeling of exultation, but it soon passed, and each time he killed it left him sooner. However, Scarecrow had assured Crane that by being a success he will have truly destroyed all his enemies. They were forgotten worm feed – he would be an immortalised hero.

Ha!

Hahahaha!

The screams and cries of the cafeteria became increasingly distant. Crane took in a deep breath of polluted Gotham air; as usual, the sky was a nondescript, endless grey cloud. Unlike most people, Crane himself tended to like this kind of weather... but still, 'most people' were complete idiots worthy only of a painful death, so what did he care?

Sidestepping around a huge hole in the ground, covered over by a hideous, rusting metal lid, he walked further still in his jerky, almost uncertain, gait. The next hole was filled with dirty, murky water, its walls covered with thick metal. This hole had cost Arkham so much money that the amount of guards and doctors had to be reduced. No one gave monetary aide to Arkham. It was a place people wanted to forget about. The local government only gave so much, the recession, homelessness, high crime and government corruption in Gotham taking up most of its resources and money. The American Government ignored Gotham, and more than once the entire city had been completely cut off from the USA. The redundant doctors and guards had complained to the media in a bid to force Arkham to take them back. All of Gotham screamed in united, indignant horror at the lessening of staff, all in aide of a single criminal being, in their eyes, more comfortable. But what choice did Arkham have?

Killer Croc had slowly been transforming into this strange monster for years, the recent viral infection increasing the process two fold. He had been up for execution, his crimes being deemed not the work of the mentally unsound but of a murderous and bitter man. But, as the Change began to happen, doctors had to wonder if Croc was not to blame and that he was merely becoming more of a violent creature through his tampered DNA. It would be inhumane to kill someone who was not aware or in control of their actions. Unable to now put him in a normal cell, this place was made for him while they conducted experiments analysing his 'true' nature.

One thing that was painfully clear was Croc's unending hunger for blood and flesh, regardless of whether it was human or animal. In an attempt to keep him placated (and it had worked) they had been feeding him large amounts of mock-meat tofu. Whilst the texture was more or less accurate and it kept him from starving, it did not allow his blood lust to be satiated. Croc had fallen into a sort of apathy and was almost tame.

_"Nooot for looong,"_ Scarecrow drawled. Well, two hairs for him. The rest were thrown into the water.

As he left, the water began to bubble and splash, thanks to an excited Croc.

* * *

**A/N- I hope you are all enjoying Jesus Weekend (as termed by Vince Noir.) **

**AZ-Woodbomb, you guessed correctly! **


	10. Beware the Jabberwock, my son

A.N.- As always, thank you to my beta eeyop, for putting up with my nonsense sentences and silly spelling errors! :)

* * *

"Beware the Jabberwock, my son!  
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!  
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun  
The frumious Bandersnatch!"

One, two! One, two! And through and through  
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!  
He left it dead, and with its head  
He went galumphing back.

* * *

_Why was he lying still and not trying to escape? They were beginning to die! The stupid behemoths above were crushing his small body! _

Tetch's body, which had been so still, suddenly began to jerk, his fingers curled like claws and scratching at the ground in fanatical desperation.

_The fiends, the fools, the Snarks, the Jubjubs!_

The small body, trapped under the dead weight of expired bodies, was the only living thing left in the cafeteria.

Growling in frustration, the small body managed to turn itself over so it was facing the corpse hulking on top of him. Ignoring the stench of sweat and death, and the dead man's blood dripping on his face, The Mad Hatter began to claw at the body, determined to tear through it if he had to.

He had to get ready for tea time.

HAD TO GET READY!

And these idiots – these silly cards – were in his way...

On his way back to the cafeteria, Crane noted the smell of burning bodies had overtaken the screams of horror. He smiled.

_"Your house iss buurrniing..."_ whispered Scarecrow.

"Your children are gone..." finished Crane.

The kitchen back door was ripped open, blood spattered all over the walls and floor. Of course, the smarter criminals had come to the kitchen: it contained knives. Crane ignored all the butchered bodies of the unfortunate catering staff and guards. He didn't even bother to step over them; he just walked onwards, as if they weren't there.

"Ladybug... ladybug..." The rhyme descended into a hum. The beauty of the ruined cafeteria overtook Crane for a moment. He loved carnage. How he longed to see the whole world burning away like this, covered in blood and gore and corpses! Barely holding in childlike sniggers, he wandered about the room in a dream-like manner, his green eyes absorbing up all the horrors that they could.

An animalistic grunt brought his attention to where a pile of dead men laid, the first ones to be killed in the chaos. The pile was moving slightly. Something was underneath it.

"Te-tch?" he drawled, oblivious to a trail of saliva dripping from his mouth as he did so.

Yep, there Tetch was, a little blond head slowly clambering its way out of the entangled bodies. Crane had to admire Tetch's gruesome handiwork: he'd managed to rip half these bodies up in a bid to get out. Impressive, for someone so little and with no knife or such like.

Crane sat down on a table in front of the pile-up of bodies, observing Tetch's struggle. He could help Tetch by moving the bodies – but thoughts like that didn't cross Crane's mind. Instead he watched with the same level of interest he had when he first saw the mad blond.

Said fair-haired lunatic had now wrenched himself out completely and was inevitably covered in blood and gore.

"Well done," said Crane, smiling, and thinking that Tetch should feel honoured. Crane seldom gave compliments or praise. Dilated blue eyes stared at him for a moment. Tetch cocked his head to the side like a bird, as if he was analysing Crane with a very bizarre logic. It gave the impression that Tetch wasn't actually looking at him exactly...

Crane's stomach flipped with joy. He stood up and leaned over the small creature, who, unlike before, did not step back or seem intimidated. "Are you Tetch... or Mad Hatter?"

"I must get back for tea," replied Tetch in a pronounced English accent, the clipped type heard on English period dramas. "I simply must! I'm late! I'm late!"

"...I see."

Far off in the distance a monstrous roar sounded out. It was an odd sound, unlike any known animal: it was deep and reverberating, like a lion's, but guttural, as if being sounded through water.

"The Jabberwocky," The Mad Hatter whispered, his voice assuming fear, but Crane did not detect any legitimate terror. He was acting. Tetch wasn't even in this body anymore; he was gone, and in his place was a vague, two-dimensional character from a children's book.

'_The shadow animus isn't strong enough,'_ he thought. _'But it's alright, we can fix that...'_

The thing that had once been called 'Killer Croc' let out another roar.

It wanted everyone to know It was coming! Like a monster out of the Bible book of Revelations, It raised itself out of the stinking waters those filthy humans had left It to wallow in.

To tear and rip and eat and destroy!

That was It! It was that! Destruction and Terror personified!

Finally, after so long, Its hunger would be satiated!

As Its claws bit into the metallic sides of Its watery prison, It knew It had always had the strength to escape this place. But all those human potions had made It drowsy and light-headed. And more so was the hunger, the terrible, ongoing hunger! It was a thing of carnal, bestial pleasure and satisfaction. They had tormented It with their filthy fake food, just enough sustenance to keep It alive, but never enough to allow It satisfaction.

But now, the gangly one had offered It a sacrifice. Appropriate, for what was the thing that was once called 'Killer Croc' now but a God? Its enormous strength, Its natural ultra-violent talent that It had been born with all pointed to It being a superior being – certainly higher than all the putrid creatures that crawled across the surface of the earth.

They believed that It was perhaps some sort of throw back, some sort of devolution. Fools!

It was actually a demi-god of ancient lore. Once more, It would have humans bow to Its feet to worship It, to feed It, to satiate Its lusts, avarice and greed!

It gripped the iron lid of Its imprisonment and tore it open with a high-pitched screech of triumph.

Oh, the blood and hair It had tasted in Its waters! They coloured the water with the flavour of Man, and it had tasted so good! It needed to find Its prey and tear him, limb from limb, and gulp down his pathetic remains! It sniffed the air; the smell of death hummed in the atmosphere.

Today was the day of Revenge, the day of Revelation; It would feast. It would feast and make all those scum that had captured It pay!

Away from the deluded thoughts of grandeur, misanthropy and malevolence of these multiple, confused personalities, a few miles away, Miss Leland, the very epitome of sound common sense and sanity, was calmly eating a bagel and trying to get through 'The Jabberwocky', a rather odd poem courtesy of Mister Lewis Carroll.

Bearing a logical mind, Leland had not found Lewis Carroll's work easy to read. She had had to get various critical essays on his work, and was wryly amused when finding out that Lewis Carroll was actually just an alter ego for a shy, retiring academic (and possible paedophile) by the name of Charles Lutwidge Dodgson.

The parallel between him and Tetch was enlightening, and Leland couldn't help but wonder if Tetch was in fact obsessed with the author, if their similarity was what attracted Tetch to the books in the first place.

She had her first real session with him this afternoon. He would undoubtedly be shaken, as today would be his first day in C block, and no one _ever _got through their first day of C block smoothly; but hopefully she would be able to calm him down long enough to obtain a few crucial facts about his childhood. The prime one being when he first started reading 'Alice in Wonderland': was it a part of his childhood, and how much did he know about the author?

It mattered, as: one, the Arkham psychiatrists needed to know why he became obsessed with the story; two, why he became the Mad Hatter character; and three, why on earth he was so obsessed about finding Alice.

Charles Lutwidge Dodgson had known a young girl by the name of Alice Pleasance Liddle (again, the connection was uncanny) and had based his heroine on her. And though the Alice Tetch had come to love looked like the modern Disney version of Alice, both young women had one thing in common: they were reputedly beautiful and charming.

Was Tetch looking for perfection in a woman? This would lead to questions on how Tetch viewed women and humanity in general. Did he become angry with Alice and forced her to his will when she 'lacked' this perfection by rejecting him?

They had tested Alice after Tetch's arrest. The poor girl remembered nothing after Tetch had used his mind control device, and was suitably traumatised. However, confounding all previous fears, the tests showed that she had not been sexually assaulted in any way.

When interviewing Tetch – who had been very unhelpful and confused throughout his arrest and trial – he had mentioned that he hadn't been the one to undress and re-dress Alice in her costume; he had ordered his boss whom he only called 'the Red Queen' to do it for him. It seemed all Tetch wanted was a companion to have tea with.

There were other possible explanations though. Was he obsessing over finding an Alice in order to find another way to be close to the author?

The phone rang shrill through the quiet apartment, making her jump and drop her bagel all over the book. With a sigh she picked up the phone, listened for a moment, and then groaned wearily.

"_Dear Arkham employee,"_ an inappropriately cheerful and nasal voice, heavily accented with the Gotham twang, spoke, _"this is an automated response. There has been a mass breakout. Please follow the usual safety precautions; take necessities and leave town until the Gotham news report that Arkham is back, running at its usual pace..." _

There was more but Leland had heard it a hundred times before, so she hung up. Running to her bedroom, she pulled out the emergency suitcase every Arkham worker had. She grabbed her coat, keys and ruined book. She would call her sister and tell her that she was coming over, again, when in the car.

A mass breakout happened every few months at Arkham, and every time the workers had to treat it as if a huge natural disaster was going to hit the city. In some ways, that was exactly what it was. In the few days it would take for the Batman and his comrades to round up all the criminals, the death toll in Gotham alone would make up for a third in the entire country's statistics.

Arkham workers were always required to leave as, inevitably, they were the most at risk.

As she started her engine and drove to the intersection, Leland could not help her heart from sinking. There was no way Jervis Tetch would survive C block now. No way.

He'd be dead within the hour.


	11. Vorpal Sword

**Warning- this hasn't been edited yet! Please excuse any mistakes!**

* * *

**This Frederick! this Frederick!  
A naughty, wicked boy was he;  
He caught the flies, poor little things,  
And then tore off their tiny wings;  
He kill'd the birds, and broke the chairs,  
And throw the kitten down the stairs;  
And oh! far worse and worse,  
He whipp'd his good and gentle nurse!**

* * *

There is a sort of dark beauty in violence. It's probably why we watch the ultra violent films, whilst popping popcorn in our mouths; why we stretch our necks round to catch a glimpse of the traffic accident we just drove past; why we read Stephen King's description of a town being massacred by some unseen force, turning against each other in violent, bloody ways whilst sipping a cup of cocoa and revelling in the warmth of our homes.

We can't all be crazy.

Because after engaging in this acts, after worshipping the bloodthirsty God of our own Id, we quietly get back on with our lives, being polite to each other; opening the door for the old man; falling in love; crying at funerals; empathising with someone's heartbreak.

But then, for some of us, the dark beauty of violence just isn't enough. The brief film or novel is not far down the rabbit hole enough for our inner wild creature to be satiated. And the beauty that exists outside of the darkness no longer pleases us; we are no longer grateful for the smiles and the sun and the sound of music. Some of us treat violence like heroin. Some of us get addicted.

In the dark recesses of Arkham, the inhabitants of C-block weaved their way through the halls, killing on sight and fighting all the way. It was the same old tired routine that worked every time. The no-name grunts (the ones who were tall, bald, and destined to be nothing more than henchmen fodder to the Rogue Gallery) would plough on ahead, ensuring that the terrified staff were either dead or hidden and afraid. Once the shackles were off and the boundaries lowered, no one dared get in the way of the prisoner who was stationed opposite Tetch (the tall man, with the beard and chiselled looks) thought he was Zeus, god of the Olympians. Often, in his permanently confused state, he would imagine the stampeding Arkhamites as the crazed Titans. Indeed, that why Zeus never ran away with them- they were not _his_ gods...

The monitored doors of C-block, (the one's Tetch had entered but the previous evening,) were the hardest to get through, but they were all that separated the rogue gallery to the rest of the asylum. The likes of Riddler liked to spend hours playing around with it, to work out the code (the easiest part) and then sliding out, unnoticed by the outside guards (choose the right hour of night, and the guards were usually half asleep and most of the CCTV was down- everyone knew the Asylum had next to no money for resources, and _no way _were the prisoners being filmed twenty-four hours) and keeping to the shadows, before making it to the main part of the asylum, which was easy pickings for a hostage, and _hey presto_, Riddler would be out of Arkham, a medley of distressed doctors and usually one corpse (i.e. former hostage) would be left in his wake. Of course, the likes of Riddler didn't have to take a hostage, if they were consistently careful, they could sneak out without any deaths. But what would be the fun in that?

At times like these, (i.e. mass break out) such intricate games were tiresome. Instead, the grunts went first, they'd punched in the electronic lock (ha! It would take Arkham months to replace it...so even if most of the inmates were captured and bought back, the place was practically open now, they might as well add a revolving door!) before pulling the two metal doors open with sheer sweat, muscle and determination. The Rogue Gallery would then go ahead, whilst the grunts kept the doors open long enough. The Rogues, more cunning and dangerous, would often wipe out any team of Arkham Guardswaiting on the other side.

It was a piece of art, watching the rogues and their scum fall out of those doors, the mad laughter, the screeches, the sound of feet thundering on the floor all adding up to a single, terrifying roar of insanity. They were the face of insanity, and violence and cruelty. In that way, poor old crazy Maxie, aka 'Zeus' was correct, they were all gods; decadent, archaic Gods wrongly imposing themselves in a supposedly new, liberal and self-controlled Age.

As the rogues ran ahead straight to the holding room, where all their gadgets were locked away (nothing was ever destroyed- the rogues inventions were too fantastic, too impressive and too easily used by corrupt officials in government to warrant destruction.) Some criminals, like Two-Face, simply ran away causing as few deaths as possible (granted, a few guards had their heads smashed into the wall, while others he strangled ) not because of any respect he had for life, but simply because he wanted to get outside quickly. Two-Face, like his previous personality Harvey Dent, was a yuppie- time was important, extra energy was not wasted.

But then you had the artists, like the Joker. Joker would sit down on the occasional guard, whisper a few sweet nothings in the Unfortunates ear- to one young female guard he explained how he knew about her barely repressed paedophilic tendencies, and how he was **more **than **happy **to rape and murder her family- fulfilling all her dark dreams of being free from them, and pursuing her depraved sexual tendency. Maybe, he had added in a loving and confidential tone, _maybe _they could do it together?

He calmly explained a young male guard that he was doomed to loneliness and fears of inadequacy and that really, the best thing to do would be to kill himself now, and at least die a sort of martyr. Then he would stand and laugh hysterically as his words cause the guards so much distress, that they get out their weapons, and kill (or seriously maim) themselves, desperate to escape his clutches. It was common knowledge in all of Gotham that the only way to escape the Joker after he'd become interested in you, was to commit suicide.

From the hallway opposite C-block (D-block) came the entourage of beautiful femme fatales. Taking advantage of the panic guards who had rushed into the cafeteria of C-block, the women were out of their prisons a causing havoc before the males. Like the men, the femme fatales had a hierarchy which affected their escapes; the weaker females, such as Magpie and Rocket girl waited for the men, namely the likes of Harvey, who despite professing a disinterest in women, often liked to have them draped around him. Sure, these girls would be reduced to being fuck-buddies and hench-girls, but as Harley Quinn had proved, there was always opportunity to advance, plus, they got all the perks of villainy (the money and jewels and being feared) but with doing a hell of a lot less work.

Of course, some of the female rogues would not even consider such a route. Ivy strolled serenely down the dingy green corridors, side stepping the little fires that were being set up, not to mention the lifeless bodies, passionately kissing her once custodian- now-victims, sending a burning poison into their mouths; it was a new concoction she had sneakily made and added to her lip gloss. The guards and doctors were no longer stupid enough to allow her plants in her cell, or even to let her outside (regardless of good behaviour.) So, one day, when one of Ivy's fans (in this instance, a young woman called Angelica, a prominent member of Earths Liberation Front,) asked the guards to hand Ivy a toy doll, no one thought anything of it. They had all sniggered as Ivy lavished the silly plastic doll with the same amount of love and attention she had her plants. Her psychiatrists began to wonder if she was beginning to change her obsession; for many years they had theorised that Ivy simply used her plants as surrogate children, and this doll seemed to further this hypothesis. Of course nothing could have been further from the truth; Ivy didn't give a damn about children, and her plants were as much her slaves than anything else. There is a highly toxic plant that grows in the eastern side of North America. It produces white berries, black stigmata ruining the deathly white apparel. These plants are called 'dolls eyes.' Both Angelica and Ivy shared a love of ironic humour, so it was obviously where Angelica had placed the berries.

Needless to say, working late at night, it was these berries that Ivy used on the poor men and women that crossed her path that fine morning. As she walked away, a smirk paying on her lips, they would lie writhing on the floor, knowing that they were doomed to a slow, agonising death, feeling their hearts beating wildly out of control, and their bodies steadily beginning to seize up. If they were lucky, they'd be crushed to death by the stampeding Arkhamites...

Normally, Scarecrow would be in the midst of such a foray; his dark, spindly figure jerkily making his way through the masses, poisoning hundreds of guards and criminals alike with his terrible fear gas. However, he was nowhere to be seen...

He was in the cafeteria still, looking into the pale eyes of someone who used to be Jervis Tetch.

Crane was enraptured in Tetch-no the _Mad Hatter_. Sure, he was weak, but for him to have changed so completely, so quickily! Crane leaned back and pondered. Was Tetch suffering from a split personality? And if so, why was he here and not in an ordinary asylum receiving help? There were things that could be done about split personalities.

It wouldn't be long before Croc arrived, though the stupid creature was half blind and almost completely maddened by his viral affliction. Crane had to work fast.

"You are...the Mad Hatter, aren't you?"

Tetch cocked his head to one side and looked vaguely confused, though his general demeanour was so illogical and strange that it was hard to tell. Was it possible that he had decided he was someone else? The Hatter in the books had never asked after Alice, had he? Plus, Tetch had said he was "late." If Crane remembered the story correctly, that was what the white rabbit always said.

"Are you the Hatter?" He pushed. "Or are you the white Rabbit? The grinning cat? Who are you?"

Tetch blinked rapidly before looking slightly ashamed, like a schoolchild who had been caught doing something naughty.

"This," he intoned when he finally spoke, "was **not** an encouraging opening for a conversation..."

"What? What are you talking about?" Crane leaned in closer, "are you quoting the book in general?"

"What is the use of repeating all that stuff!" Tetch suddenly yelled, sounding angry and hurt, "if you don't explain it as you go on? It's by far the most confusing thing I ever heard!"

Crane sighed heavily; this was simply...impossible. How Leland had managed to listen to this nonsense for an hour long session was beyond him. The roar of an angry crocodile-hybrid tore through the atmosphere. Croc was getting closer, and Crane wanted Tetch to be somewhat ready.

"Hatter, the Jabberwocky is coming. What will you do?"

Hatter turned his head at an odd angle, before slowly sitting, cross legged, in the floor. He ignored all the bodies and blood that surrounded him.

"So rested he by the Tumtum tree..." he muttered slowly, sounding genuinely reflective, "And stood awhile... in thought..."

"You don't know?" Crane cast his mind back to the idiot poem. He was very disinterested in Carroll's work on the whole, but he did have a thing for poetry, so he must have read the jabberwocky at some stage.

"The...hm...the portal sword?" he looked at Tetch who's eyes almost seem to flash with a momentary recognition. "That's what you need isn't it?"

In one fluid movement the Hatter stood up suddenly, his eyes still locked onto Cranes face. While Tetch would never be frightening he was very...disconcerting...

"He took," Tetch mimed holding a sword up in the air, glancing at it in wonder before returning his gaze to Crane, "his vorpal sword in hand!"

Crane allowed himself a small, satisfied smirk before jumping off the table and picking up a broken chair leg. He handed it to Hatter;

"Your Vorpal sword, my son..."

* * *

**AN- Sorry if this chapter is a bit of a fail. I wanted to write a little about the other characters, just to show how they would escape, but it will be put in more details etc later. I aso wrote it pretty quickily, as Horsewhisper3 (hi!) lit a fire under my ass (I'm a procrastinator, sorry.) I will re-edit this!**


	12. The Beaver's Lesson

"**They sought it with thimbles, they sought it with care;  
They pursued it with forks and hope...**

* * *

As It slithered its way out of the darkness, It finally remembered what it was to grin. It saw the ever impassive and unimpressive mottle-grey Gothomite sky staring back down at It. The air was polluted with the usual filth and grime found in all cities, but also mingled in with the evil essences that permeated through Gotham's atmosphere; Lust, Greed, Violence, Corruption and all the other Masters. No longer were these gods little more than fragile, man-made ghosts, now It represented all of them; It was a living god, who served the Masters, and they served It.

With shocking speed for its size, It ran across the dirty, grim soaked land on all fours, its goal being a small human, its first sacrifice. Entering the kitchen It temporarily halted, enjoying the smell of blood and carnage enveloping Its senses, not unlike how Crane had enjoyed and revelled in the murders less than half an hour prior. Yes, they had prepared for Its coming. It could hear voices; It remembered the Gangly One from his former life with which It shared with him, there was another voice, one that was new. He sniffed the air...yes, his sacrifice was waiting...

While the Mad Hatter was still holding the table leg in the air, like it was the Holy Grail, Crane saw the red, arid eyes of Croc before the fiend revealed himself in full. Even Crane recoiled a little from the creature when it was fully visible. Killer Croc had never been attractive or even aesthetically acceptable but before he had some semblance of humanity about him. This creature was a terrible hybrid that looked barely human, but more like a hideous, mutated lizard.

Crocs skin beforehand had been hard and segmented, giving it the appearance of scales however, now it had worsened, the scales now looked deeply crusted, even more raised, and far into infection. The softer, more human skin barely noticeable between the hardened rocky scales looked red and angry. Crane shuddered, the water they put Croc into must have been filthy and seldom ever cleaned, if ever. Crocs face had changed also, before it had a slightly troglodyte appearance, his jaw jutting out and his mouth filled with sharp incisors; but now the mouth had grown long, like a snout and though the teeth were just as sharp they now stuck out, like the teeth of a Great White Shark.

Slowly as to not attract attention, Crane backed up into the shadows. It was very possible that his experiment would die today which would be a shame as its animus, as weak as it was, was still very interesting. However Crane had predicted Tetch would not survive his test very long. Internally, the thin man sighed...he would have to go back to experimenting on all those _philistine_ Gothamites again...Beginning to already lose interest in the fight, Crane began to calculate how long it would be before batman arrived.

"Jabberwocky." Muttered the Mad Hatter.

The thing formerly known as Killer Croc was salivating massive amounts of thick green, phlegm like drool before it roared something in a guttural language. Truthfully, even if it had spoken in perfectly good English, the Mad Hatter still would not have processed it properly; that part of his brain, which was never as good as it should be, was no longer working.

It's threat over; the creature ran towards Tetch, its mouth low to the ground in order to immediately guzzle the miniscule Tetch on impact. This was Crocs first error. Nimbly, at the last moment, Tetch jumped and landed (or more like stumbled, as it had no grace) on the top of its snout jamming the jaws shut.

* * *

In Gotham police headquarters, the understaffed riot squad were resolutely putting on their protective uniforms, preparing weapons, and saying goodbye over the phone to their loved ones. They dreaded it when the Arkhamites broke out in the day. During the night, the Dark Knight, their key rival, enemy, ridiculer and saviour, would go in and quell the madmen alone. Unfortunately, they were the day watch. Every time they went in, at least three men would die.

Gordon looked at them, their eyes already full of defeat and depression. When he had been younger and full of ideals, Gordon would have given his men a pep talk. He would have told them that they were the best of the best. That the battle they fought was not just for their (albeit flawed yet) beloved city, but, in fact, for all of America. Everyone in the country had suffered greatly because of the machinations of the Rogue Gallery; America's reputation had been soiled, perhaps irreparably and the stock markets had plummeted so low so quickly that even the wealthy City of Metropolis had been thrown into a deep recession. Copy cats and attentions seekers who emulated the Rogue Gallery had helped make America officially the most dangerous country in the world, triumphing over violent countries from South Africa, Eastern Europe and the Middle East. The country lost commerce and tourist money as well as its esteem and pride.

In short, the Rogues represented the worst of the Western World, but by fighting them, the unnamed foot soldiers under Commissioner Gordon represented the best of the Western World, the best part of America.

However, after years of watching boys die, of telling their wives and children and lovers that they were not coming back- that Joker killed them as part of a bad pun, or Ivy successfully seduced them and then murdered them violently over a plant, or that Two Face (the fallen hero of Gotham) had killed them due to them getting the scarred side after a coin flip- it lessened that speech. It made him feel like a fool, telling these boys all those pretty words. Being on the riot squad about to enter Arkham was the equivalent of being on a suicide mission.

That's not to say the Jim Gordon had lost is love for justice; no, that would never happen. But his ideals, his youthful dreams and aspirations for his city, which included the end of a recession, a trust of the police force, honest politicians and a eradication of protection brackets and gangster warfare, they had lessened and lessened and now Gordon simply wished to catch the villains and save as many people as humanly possible. It was one of the driving forces for him defending the Batman, which often involved him turning a blind eye to his violent vigilante techniques that were on occasion on the same brutal level as the people he put into Arkham.

It was one of the main reasons for Gordon loved his daughter so much; every night he would go home and see all that hope and fire for justice in her deep blue eyes. After the Joker put her in the wheelchair, he had feared that she would lose that edge, that fervour. He had seen it happen so many times before. And he wouldn't have blamed her, not at all. The Joker was a horrific individual to be around for but a few moments, as many times a few moments were all he needed to get into someone's head in order to haunt them for a lifetime. But instead, her resilience had won and while being slightly more cynical, Barbara had still maintained her hope and ideals.

Conversely for Gordon, the last nail in his youthful hopes had been, most definitely the death of Sarah at the hands of the Joker... while Jim often assumed that he didn't have the strength of Barbara, he fervently wished that by the time she was his age that she would be as tired as he was.

So instead of all those brave words of defending America, their city, their culture and way of life, Gordon said;

"Alright guys. Finish up your phone calls. We're in the trucks and out of here in three."

* * *

Crane watched with amusement at Croc's furious expression. The Mad Hatter had landed ungainly on his snout, and now the creature seemed unable to open it. Crocodiles had strong jaws when it came to shutting them and crushing their victim. However, the muscles they used to open their mouths were significantly weaker, so much so that a normal human could hold them shut. It seemed Killer Croc shared the same flaw as his cold-blooded counterparts. However, jaws are not a crocodile's only weapon, moving so quick it was a blur, Croc's long tail swiped the Hatter off his snout as if he were nothing more than an irritating fly, just before the tiny blond had managed to raise his 'Vorpal sword.'

The Hatter flew across the room, limbs as limp as a dolls, slamming into a wall before landing on the floor painfully. However, Hatter never cried out, not even once. As he got unsteadily to his feet, Crane noticed his head was heavily bleeding again; the wound he received earlier at the hands of the guards must have re-opened. Nonetheless, Hatter seemed to have no broken bones.

Crane remembered how he had been thrown, "his body was so limp," he thought, "his body must have been relaxed enough so that when he hit the wall, there was no resistance." In fact the incident made him recall back to a similar situation during his university years.

One boy who he was (for want of a better term) 'friends' with, repeatedly taunted him for his looks and lack of success in romance. Crane often resented the fact that this so-called friend, like all the others before him, only socialised with him in order to have someone to put down and demean. Crane decided that he wasn't going to put up with that kind of 'friend' anymore. One night, after their summer exams, a group of them were having a house party. Crane spiked everyone's drinks so that everyone became drunk very quickly. Offering to take his friend home, he threw him in front of an oncoming car.

Crane always remembered the bitter realisation that his 'friend' was not dead, despite the head-on crash. His friend was so intoxicated that when the car hit, there was no resistance, and his body simply melded into and went along with the force of the car hitting it. Like Hatter, he hadn't even broken bones. Luckily, this failed murder led Crane on to more traditional poisons and medications (which successfully rid him of this 'friend' and had been serving him well ever since.) It was another example of how every cloud has a silver lining.

Just as Hatter steadied himself, It had arrived by his side, moving so quickly that it also fell into the wall, scrambling up against its side, as Hatter moved away, falling over the chairs and tables. Using its tail, It majestically swept the various debris of tables and chair over Hatter, essentially trapping him.

* * *

Meanwhile, in a little motel and under the pseudonym of Anne Jolled, Leland looked over Tetch's case files. She had studied them before her interview with him, but was somewhat depressed at the lack of any substantial information. There was nothing n his childhood, his records only dating back to when he first arrived in America at nineteen. She had copies of his birth certificate and medical records, but there was nothing outstanding in those. She was still waiting for his school records to arrive from Britain, but as far as anyone knew, Tetch had always been a likeable, but shy student.

Was it possible that Tetch had repressed any normal feelings of anger or sadness, and had, inadvertently, caused a new personality to exist? But, wait no, that made no sense. Leland sighed heavily, the mad hatter character, as far as she could tell, was wish fulfilment. On the night he had dated Alice pleasance, Tetch had apparently come across as a 'man about town', someone suave, verbose and powerful. However, in interviews and during his counselling session yesterday, Tetch had been anything but those things. His hatter personality was bound by the nonsensical, but strict rules set down in Lewis carols nonsense writings. "There is something more to this," Leland muttered aloud, looking down at the prison photograph of Tetch. His goofy teeth looked more prominent than ever, his wide eyes down cast and troubled. Tetch himself was juxtaposition; he looked like a slightly ugly child, but had a decidedly adult mind and was a genius.

The Hatter personality seemed to fit his appearance better – silly, childlike, and irreverent. "We've missed something," she muttered, "We've missed something because you have hidden it." Leland was aware that she and her colleagues could at present only guess what was happening to Tetch. Even now after years of study and counselling, most of the Rogues were a mystery. Leland believed that one of the main reasons the Arkham doctors struggled to help the likes of Joker and Ivy in comparison to individuals such as Two face and Harley ( both of whom, whilst not being 'cured' tended to suffer mental health break downs rather than remaining consistently adherent to one form of bizarre behaviour) was because the doctors knew that Two Face was in actual fact Harvey Dent,( a man driven mad by his job, personal history and his attack) and that Harley was in fact Harleen Quinzel, (a driven, if not avaricious young woman who was dependent, intelligent and easily led.) In short, the less they knew of a Rogue in their former life, the less success they had at curing them.

Leland threw the files down on her bed, frustration building to a final crescendo in her chest. What did it matter? Arkham was, once again, under siege, and the chances are Tetch, who was in C-bock of all places, would probably be dead by the end of the day. If the siege lasted into the night Batman would attack, and Leland knew that he would have no qualms about pummelling anyone he saw as an enemy, even someone as harmless as Tetch.

* * *

No matter how much he struggled, Hatter just couldn't seem to pull himself free. It stood over him, grinning and drooling like a rabid dog. In the background, Crane began to edge his way towards the cafeteria door which led into the hallway, all whilst quietly humming 'Jack and Jill went up the hill'. It was pretty clear to Crane and Scarecrow who was going to win now, and Crane didn't want to be too close to Croc when he finally finished the Hatter.

"Foolish little human," snarled It, "to think you could defeat me. Do you know what I am? I am the beast from the earth that speaks like a dragon! I am the beast from the sea! I am the dragon who hunts the woman and her seed! I am here to eat and kill and destroy. You dare defy me!"

The entire time It garbled it's obscene vitriol in a guttural language no one could understand, Hatter had a litany going through his mind which was, aside from the odd interruption from a part of his brain which he had forgotten, the fifth chapter of Lewis Carroll's "The Hunting of the Snark." The Mad Hatter did not really think, he tended to just do things, but, as Leland had predicted, these things were not just random; there was always a specific and realistic goal in mind (for example, getting the girl, surviving an attack, and so on) but the path to completing these goals was dictated by obscure messages that Hatter found in the only language he understood, Lewis Carroll's literary works. True to form, this particular chapter had given Hatter the instructions for his survival.

It opened its jaws again, and using a long, lizard like green tongue (tinged with various bits of moss and fungi) and gently licked Hatter. Ah, to savour the pathetic humans taste! To make the creature know that It was Death, that It was a god! It's tongue was a curious misture of rough and wet and sticky and the force of one particular lick was strong enough to loosen Hatters arms ever so slightly. Just as Croc positioned it's body over Tetch and leaned down to bite him in two, Hatter responded by jamming the table leg aka Vorpal Sword into the tongue with all the strength he could muster.

Rivets of blood so dark it almost looked black poured from the wound onto Tetch, the wetness giving him the ability to squeeze out of the trap. Croc roared in agony as Hatter ran to the opposite side of the room, closer to Crane. Crane himself was watching with renewed interest as a barely cognizant Croc tried to get the table leg out of his tongue. It's shouldn't of been so hard, the leg was not in that deep, regardless of all the blood, and technically Croc still had hands. Granted they were beginning to look like claws, the long nails now black and thick, but at this stage of the mutation fingers were still visible. Unfortunately for Croc he seemed to have forgotten how to use them. Losing itself in anger, Croc began to smash the furniture all around him, worsening the length of the wound and the gushing blood.

Crane looked at Hatter; the little creature was staring at Croc with a glare that could only be described as psychotic and muttering to himself. Something like _' they...thi...sought...ho...for...ks...'_

"Probably more Lewis Carroll nonsense," Crane thought with a level of hypocritical disdain. Inside his own mind, Scarecrow was singing another nursery rhyme. He ran to where Hatter was hoping to inject the idiot with a level of fear, "what now? He's coming soon!"

Before he had even finished, the Hatter, who had paid him no attention (he hadn't even looked at Crane, the thin man had indignantly noticed) ran forward at lightening pace, directly towards Croc. Leaning down with shocking speed, he scooped a plastic fork off the ground and running onto a chair, used that to launch himself at the creature.

Landing back on Its head, Hatter gripped onto the hard, lumped calluses that made up the scales. He fell down slightly, once more putting weight onto the jaws, closing them. Croc began to shake his head wildly, but just before he was thrown off, Hatter jammed the fork into its eye.

* * *

**A/N. I know, I know, of all the damned places to leave the chapter! I am sorry. I will try and update a little more quickly so that we can see the end of the fight sooner. So first off, I have been doing research on crocodiles and how they attack, etc. Apparently, their jaws are quite weak (well, when they try to open them, they have no problem closing them) and what is said in the chapter is true. However, if I got my facts totally wrong, please, educate me, and I will find another way of attempting to keep Tetch alive long enough for the fight to be interesting.**

**If anyone is wondering what the hell Croc is rabbating on about ('I am the beast, blah, blah, blah and so on!') just read Revelations in the Bible.**

**Finally, this was my first attempt of writing a fight. Was it obscenely boring? Need more violence? More gore? More description or realism? Please, let me know and I shall try to improve. he fight will go into the next chapter, and I'm hping to up the ante. Likewise, let me know if you feel I did not go into enough detail in the chapter or if anything sort of bothered you. My aim is to improve for you guys :)**


	13. Waiting for the Railway share

**They threatened its life with a railway-share;  
They charmed it with smiles and soap.**

* * *

Once more Tetch small body was thrown to the ground, even less artfully and more forcefully than the previous time. He lay still for a few moments, his head bleeding profusely, whilst It let out an anguished bellow in the background. Whilst Crane observed with a modicum of interest, Scarecrow ran over and helped Hatter to his feet. Wordlessly they ran out of the cafeteria and into the C–block hallways.

With the escapades of the Arkhamites, the hallways looked even more depressing and dismal than before. The lighting flickered on and off, blood and corpses (made up of unfortunate guards and crushed prisoners) littered the floor. A few guards were hanging from the ceiling, tied to fans with their ties; evidence of the Arkhamites version of justice.

The Arkhamites could be heard down the hall, laughing and screeching. For all the ones that attempted to escape, there would always be more who stayed and laid siege to the Asylum; many of them were neither intelligent nor mentally coherent enough to actually make money in Gotham. It was easier to stay and live it up until the Bat arrived.

Hatter halted and looked at all the bodies; he seemed at a loss and rather put out.

"Horsey horsey don't you stop!" commanded Scarecrow, "just let your feet go clippetty clop!"

Hatter turned to him, "railway share?"

Scarecrow smiled ever so slightly. "The Sandman's coming in his train of cars, with moonbeam windows and with wheels of stars; so hush you little ones and have no fear. The man-in-the-moon he is the engineer." Scarecrow finished wisely, his small protégé nodding with understanding.

"Smiles and soap," the blond grinned.

The two rogues had ran left after exiting the cafeteria, which led them through and out of the showers. They now stood in surrounded by empty cells, facing where C-blocks door were ripped open. However, Tetch's last mutter had led the men to understand that they would not be walking out of those two doors.

Smirking crookedly, the Scarecrow nodded, before walking up the corridor where the prisoners would line up for showers. In the moment he was out of sight, two guards crept out of one of the cells and glanced at C-blocks broken doors. For a few moments they did not notice Tetch silently observing them, his eyes revealing no thought in his little skull. Finally one turned, saw him...and grinned "oh, ho, it's you! I'm surprised you're still alive!" Hatter blinked slowly. He had no experience with Cocksmore, but something inside, some sort of instinct, was telling him that he really hated that man. "Hey Hanson," Cocksmore hit the arm of his comrade, "it's Tetch. He's alive."

Hanson's attention had been on the doors, but as he turned to face Tetch, his eyes fell upon another person. "C-Crane!" He stammered, causing Cocksmore to stop grinning. Scarecrow was back at Hatters side, his arms folded together as if he were cradling a secret. The guards eyed it suspiciously. "Listen, Crane, we just want to get out of here, ok?" Hanson gulped, his arms raised defensively even though Crane was not close enough to hit him. Cocksmore had been in Arkham longer than Hanson, and recognised when Crane was Crane, the annoying whiney botch doctor, and when Crane was Scarecrow, the psychotic killer. While Hanson wasted time blabbering, he was slowly backing away.

Unfortunately, fear got the better of both of them. With shocking speed, the spindly man launched himself forward, loosening his arms and spraying both the men. Instantly they fell screaming, Cocksmore buried himself into the bodies of his fallen colleagues, were Hanson clawed at his face hysterically.

Slowly the screaming halted; Cocksmore sat up and Hanson lowered his hands. They were promptly knocked out by the two sniggering villains who had more than enough time to grab a truncheon each form the one of the dead guards and to position themselves over them. Scarecrow turned to Hatter and showed him the cheap, prison standard deodorant he had been holding. Learnt behaviour was a wonderful, amusing thing...

* * *

Outside the asylum, Gordon and his men finally arrived.

Waiting there already was Lt. Gerard Hennelly and his instant response SWAT team. Jerry eyed him critically, "what are you doing here Gordon? We can handle this."

Gordon sighed lightly, "I don't want to get into an argument with you, and I'm not trying to compete. This," he motioned to the looming black fortress that was Arkham, "is bigger and more complicated than you can ever imagine. If we are going to keep Gotham safe until night time, we need to have as many men as possible and a damn good plan."

"Safe until night time?" the lieutenant repeated incredulously. "I imagine you are not suggesting that by tonight we clock off and leave Gotham to its fate, so you must mean the Bat; once more you expect Batman to sweep in and solve all our problems. You ever think, Commish, that you're getting lazy? That maybe you rely too much and this guy?" Jerry moved in closer and continued in a conspiratorial tone, "I don't care that the thugs and idiots think his some sort of," he waved his hand vaguely whilst looking for the term, "righteous judge, or god, or hero, or whatever. I know and you know he's a man in a costume! Using him to scare the thugs, fine great, but when the shit hits the fan like this, I do not want to rely on some violence-prone lunatic who is too afraid to come out into the daylight!"

As Jerry complained, Gordon was reminded of a weekend he had enjoyed at some point that month, because he had managed to spend it solely with his children*. They had been watching some dumb Japanese cartoon that was full of violence, yelling and bright colours, so of course they loved it. But something had been said- all of the characters had been killed by the villain (an androgynous lizard creature, Gordon had no idea what it was. Whatever happened to Mickey Mouse and Tom and Jerry?) And Gordon had scoffed at their plight. "Why are they all dead?" he had asked, not understanding the cartoon. "There's no one left to beat the villain. Aren't cartoons supposed to show the good guys always winning?"

At that, his son had said, "all the good guys die when Goku isn't around. They got too used to being saved, so now Goku is the only one who counts..."

Maybe the lieutenant had a point? The local government were sick and tired of Batman, the level of vigilantes and anti-government conspiracy theories had become so common place that Gotham was, quite possibly more dangerous than ever before, it had more in common with the Wild West than twenty-first century. Some people were seriously considering that the government and law enforcements were completely unnecessary when they had the likes of Batman and Robin watching over the city. Gordon shook his head- there was no time for debate now.

"Look Jerry I understand your concerns, but this isn't the time. They're in there, and half of them have already escaped. Please, let my men secure the area. Then we'll- erm, you, can order your men inside. Alone there just aren't enough of us, but together..."

"Fine, fine, do what you need to." Jerry huffed, he pulled his men back together. "Surround the area," the Commissioner commanded as all the men received their gas masks and fully loaded tranquilizers. "Bock, you take your squad down to the cemetery, somehow last time Joker and Two Face found a secret way to escape through that way. I'm sure all the Rogues know about it now. Remember, do your best not to fight anyone! Use the tranqs alone! If they do not work, and the Rogue keeps coming towards you, retreat! Our main goal today is to suppress the outbreak as much as possible and to save whatever Arkham staff we can. However, we can afford to not have regained control over Arkham until tonight. Does everyone understand? Very well, remember, keep communications open, but a minimum, look out for each other and shoot but do not engage. Good luck everyone."

Gordon's men separated into five teams; one went to the cemetery; the other went to the back of Arkham where the sewers met a larger reservoir; two went either side of the building, one to the left hid in the watchtowers with snipers, one the right side they stood guard around a small grove of trees and bushes the Arkhamites were prone to hiding in. The final group stood at the front entrance with the SWAT team. The area as secured as possibly, Jerry and Gordon got down to planning a coup of the interior before any more staff members could be killed.

"Ok, the heart of Arkham is C-Block, Wing A is where the women are; Wing B is where the men are."

"I know this Gordon!" complained the Lieutenant with barely restrained hostility.

"Sorry, Jerry, I'm not being rude." Gordon wiped his brow, stressed with the added pressure of being the peace keeper. "I just never know how much information the government have given you guys."

Jerry grunted in agreement; even he knew that the Mayor and his co-workers were at times, infamously tight-lipped if it was in their benefit to do so, even if it meant putting the very people who protected them (SWAT or police force) in direct danger. He knew he was being unfair to Gordon, but under severe performance pressure, he was losing his cool. Gordon was something of a legend to the people of Arkham, where Jerry was viewed as little more than an upstart, despite his relatively positive track record. Gordon was also seen as one of two things; he was either a father figure whom police loved, or he was a doddery, condescending old fool. Jerry was beginning to agree with the latter opinion.

"So C-block is located in the bowels of Arkham," Gordon continued with some trepidation; this was an uneasy alliance. "The best thing to do is to enter at the front and split into, if we have enough men, five groups of at least eight. Two will go right, down to the psychiatric wards- A-Block. That's where we'll find the doctors, nurses and patients with a-typical mental health issues such as schizophrenia. The other group going left will arrive at B-Block, the wards where most of the patients are catatonic or severely depressed. It will also lead onto all the kitchens, where the people of Wards A and B are fed. This ward will be easier to get into because none of their patients are a danger to other people."

"Then why send in two groups?" Queried Jerry. "Wouldn't it be easier to send three to the Psyche ward, and just one left?"

"No, because it's easier to get to that means it is more likely to be under the control of the Arkham prisoners. The chances of finding anyone alive there is pretty low." The two men simultaneously grimaced before Gordon carried on, drawing out a line on a map showing the layout of Arkham. The map itself was fairly basic, a child could have done it...

"So we find who we can in the space of an hour and a half. Then we back track to front. By then, hopefully, the ambulances and back up psychiatrists will be here ready to help. When we are all together, then we will go down into C-Block." Gordon glanced at Jerry. "You ever been in Arkham son?"

"No, Sir..." Jerry replied, wondering if he found the 'son' comment patronising or comforting.

"Well, I myself have only been in a handful of times. And I've been to C-block even less often. C-Block is...complicated. There are four doors to get through. All of them lock automatically on the outside. Even i the likely chance that they have been damaged by the Rogues, they are still made out of solid steel. C-Block was designed to be a true prison; once inside there is little chance of escape."

"Yet somehow the Rogue gallery keep getting out!" Jerry snarled defensively; he was getting scared.

"Well, the Rogue's are not ordinary people. The point is, you meet the Joker in B Block or A Block, there is a chance of escaping with your life, and it's slim, but there. In C-Block your chances are pretty much nill. We can't afford to mess up when in there, lieutenant; we can't afford to get scared."

"I know...I _know_..."

"Are you good with this plan so far?"

"This one works right?"

"It works the best," Gordon shrugged in response.

Jerry grimaced again but nodded. Lining up the men, they were given a run-down of how to handle Blocks A to B for the next two hours. C-Block was strictly off limits until the other areas were clear.

The men slammed open the front doors and entered the building. Gordon looked at his watch, it was now eleven O'clock. Sunset wasn't until 6:30. They were going to need a miracle.

* * *

On the top floor of his manor, Bruce Wayne watched the television reports about the Arkham outbreak, his stoic and handsome face resting on his folded hands. Things were bad, people- mostly cops, were going to get hurt. Gordon and Jerry were both under an enormous amount of pressure from the media and local government; Bruce was under no doubt that this would affect their judgements today.

"Thinking of donning your cloak in the day sir?" Alfred enquired as he entered the room with as much stealth as Batman had.

"No," he replied, his voice still husky from the fights he underwent last night, before drinking an obscene amount at an opening Gala for yet another new casino. "It's too risky. I do need some hours to rest and the likelihood of getting caught is too high in the day. But I am going to try and call in reinforcements for the day watch."

Pulling the phone receiver towards him, Bruce quickly typed in a number and patiently waited, smiling briefly and superficially as Alfred laid out his breakfast- orange juice, muesli and pain killers.

"Hello."

"Hello Clark."

"Bruce? How are you my friend? Wow, you sound pretty sore, rough night?"

"Listen, there's trouble."Bruce replied with his usual lack of preamble.

A breathless laugh answered him, "there's always trouble in Gotham, Bruce! How can I help?"

"There's been another Arkham break out."

"Wow, so they got started early today? We didn't know anything about it, hey Jimmy, turn on the Gotham news! Is it on Gotham's news station Bruce?"

"Yeah, but only one channel, 'five,' the one Summer Gleeson hosts."

"She's a damn good journalist; I'd love to have her informer. Put on channel nine! OK it's up. Bruce, I'm coming down." He began to whisper, "I'll try to come as me also, but superman will go, regardless of whether I can."

"I understand. Thank you Clark, this isn't your job and-"

"Hey! The whole world is our responsibility Bruce."

"Maybe. Thanks all the same. See you tonight."

* * *

Blind and infuriated, the thing that was once Killer Croc dragged itself out of the cafeteria. It wanted to kill and mutilate and destroy so badly! Nothing at that time was more pleasing to It than the idea of throwing caution to the wind and just annihilating everything around him. However, that little bit of self control It still possessed kept whispering to his fevered brain that giving into carnal desire would not achieve his goal. It needed to kill the two that had the audacity to defy It. If he didn't kill them, he would be a mockery to the others. Well, to a degree he already was. He was laughed at for being stupid. Even now, whilst not quite understand human faces anymore, he could still dimly remember the laughing clown and his blonde bitch who never got his old name right, the smirking half-faced man and the condescending plant woman. How he hated them!

Well now It was the one in power! It had always been the strongest and fastest. They had just been jealous. However, It was now even more ahead. It's intelligence had surely increased because it was a totemic animal god. Spitting more blood out of its damaged mouth, It grinned. It would make them pay, one by one, but first of all it would start on its sacrifices.

Despite the plethora of smells, It picked up the scent of the gangly one and the short one. Following the trail, Croc began to head towards the showers.

* * *

"But Pudding, whhhy can't we just leeeave?" Harley whined whilst swinging on a begrudging Joker.

"Well Pooh," he explained with the feigned patience of one talking to a particularly obnoxious and stupid child, "things are actually more exciting in Arkham right now! Heh-heh, I can't wait to watch the Batman versus Killer Croc fight later. Bets!" He suddenly screamed to the crazed masses (making Harley wince), "any bets on Batman? What about Croc?"

A chorus of exciting screams met his second question.

"What's your game Joker?" A husky voice, more rasping than even Batman's, questioned behind the Clown. Joker turned to Harvey and grinned.

"Hey pal! You still here?"

"You're usually the first to escape, what's going on?"

Draping his arm around the stalwart ex-district attorney, Joker got so close that Harley felt kinda jealous and Harvey felt kinda uncomfortable.

"What do you care?"

"If something is going down, I wanna know. What do you gain? I want in."

"Hahahahaha!" The Clown screeched, making even some of the tougher criminals shudder slightly. Harley resisted covering her ears protectively, considering the last time she did that her lover thumped her in her stomach, kicked her repeatedly on the ground, before dragging her up by the pig tales and cutting her hair into a hideous crew cut. Afterwards, she had cried more for her hair than she did her ruined face and broken body; Joker always liked her hair most (or so she assumed, as he pulled her by the pig tails so often.) She didn't show her face for weeks afterwards (except for bff Ivy,) as she refused to let anyone see her without her hair.

Harvey simply gritted his teeth more tightly; no way would he give the Joker the satisfaction of seeing him unnerved.

"I gain nothing but good chucks," the Clown Prince grinned after finally getting his breath back. "You musta noticed how Scarecrow was making eyes at our newest lodger?" Joker baited his eyelids as Harley squealed excitedly, sounding so much like a pig she offended her fickle lover, who pushed her away with more force than necessary. "Oh I can imagine the fanfiction Harv? All the fan-love letters? Crane never got any before, poor guy. D'you reckon it'll be as dirty as the stuff they write about us?"

"What? Scarecrow is going to mess up the new guy?" Harvey replied, reading into what Joker was saying about Scarecrow and new guy whilst ignoring the ridiculous, lascivious overtones the clown liked to spew on a regular basis. "So what? I don't even know the newbie's name. Who cares?" Immediately, Harvey began to lose interest in Joker and allowed his eyes to leave Jokers and trail across the room, hoping to find Magpie...maybe even Ivy...

Joker pouted. He hated being ignored. "I like seeing people go crazy," he grabbed Harvey's chin and forced the piebald man to look at him again. "You should know, eh Two Face? Besides, Croc is out..."

"How do you know-?"

"You can _hear_ him," interrupted Joker , his voice dripping with condescension. Indeed the cries of Croc could be heard in the distance, but to have heard it over the noise the Arkhamites were making... "I wanna see what Bat's is gonna do when he gets here. Croc isn't Killer Croc anymore, and who knows," Jokers voice became light and high pitched again. Releasing Harvey he waved his arms excitedly, "maybe the new guy has something to give!"

* * *

In the showers the two men ardently rubbed the entire damp floor with wet soap. Crane was thinking to himself that the whole thing smacked of Home Alone, but considering the nature of his unexpected sidekick (or was he Hatters side kick, in this case?) it wasn't particularly shocking that this was the Hatters method of dealing with a violent foe. Still, at least he wasn't the one who was the bait. Scarecrow smiled, it was kind of exciting.

After knocking out the guards, the villains had bound their hands and feet using the ties of their dead colleagues. The guards in Arkham were prohibited from carrying guns, though many of them (unofficially) carried knives. They were legally allowed to use batons and tasers, which was far more than any other prison guard in America was allowed, but considering their prisoners, the state had decided to allow them. Unfortunately for Hatter and Scarecrow, all of the knives were already taken, and the batons and tasers were relatively useless, as they required getting close to the attacker. Luckily, Cocksmore had on him an extra device (given to him solely as it was expensive and he was Head of the Prison guards during the day.) IT was this device that finalised their nonsense-rhyme-influenced plan.

There were two entrances to the men's showers. There was the door which led in from the cells, Scarecrow stood dutifully outside this door. The other door was where the criminals would exit to go to the cafeteria. This door was left wide open. As soon as he would shut the door, it would automatically lock and would not be able to open from the inside. Scarecrow would shut the other door, meaning Hatter and Croc would be locked in the showers together. Just as Hatter had dragged Cocksmore and Hanson into the showers, Croc's face showed itself from round the corner. It growled. But Hatter just smiled...there was no need for _him _to fear...

Cocksmore and Hanson on the other hand began to whimper piteously, the nature of their up-coming awful demise becoming painfully evident...

* * *

**A/N I am so sorry for the lack of focus on Tetch and Crane. Basically a lot of things are happening at once, and if I focus on just those two, it'd be more boring and would make less sense. It will return to being Crane and Tetch-centric soon, I promise :( **

**Also, I say that Gordon has a son in this. This fanfic is supposed to be based on BTAS and, as far as I remember, Gordon had no son, just Barbara (who is pretty much an adult.) In the film he has a young girl and boy. I wanted to keep Gordon as a family man with small children because I find his constant struggle for balance between work life and family life interesting; it makes him a sort of reflection of Batman/Bruce, don't you think? I also wanted to keep it because the running theme in this fic is duality and double-lives.**

**I don't know much about Jerry, I just found his name when researching the make up of the Gotham police force. So please excuse me if I got him wrong (and let me know, so I won't make the same mistake in the future.)**

**Finally, I apologise for the lack of combat/battle. It has to be a battle of wits because, well, it a 'god' (lol, sure, sure Croc...) versus a delusional midget and a scrawny academic obsessed with nursery rhymes.**


	14. Class

Warning. This chapter's introduction is pretty fucked up.

Disclaimer: In no way does this chapter reflect my own political, philosophical or religious views.

* * *

"**Have compassion for all beings, rich and poor alike; each has their suffering. Some suffer too much, others too little.****"  
****-****Buddha**

* * *

One thing Crane loved most was watching people die. It was fascinating. He had first become interested as a small boy; he would secretly watch the video's his dad hid in the back of his parent's closet. Crane, as an adult, now knew that these videos were hardcore sadomasochist pornonography. However, as a child, he wasn't much interested in the sex or the naked bodies (he wasn't a pervert) it was when the people died. Now that was cool. He remembered that feeling he got, watching some fluffy-haired blonde broad choking to death on a dildo, or that guy who was flayed to death by some Dracula-looking girl wearing nothing but a leather thong and high heeled boots.

It was a great feeling, the Really Great Feeling; it was like, little explosions in the bottom of his stomach. He would rewind the tapes over and over again, his face right next to the screen and closely observing at the porn stars faces just before they kicked it.

Then, slowly, after a few months, he grew bored, and the feeling went away. He contented himself with killing small bugs, and when he could catch them, small birds and rodents. All the while he would grin; humming nursery songs his nice teacher had taught him, as the creatures squealed in pain ad struggled desperately in his grip.

So, by stashing his poor, cheap porn in such a boring hiding place, Cranes father had helped put his son on the path of his destiny. It was the only thing his son was ever grateful to him for.

When Crane was in his early teens, he discovered video nasties. He was very grateful to them to; films like 'I spit on your grave' were a real comfort in those awkward times After a day of dealing with stupid teachers who didn't understand his genius, zombie class mates and the usual idiot bullies who thought they were too good for him, it was a pleasure to go home, watch a video nasty and envision each of those fuckers getting the comeuppance they truly deserved.

Again, Crane wasn't particularly interested in the sex (he _wasn't_ a pervert and completely disagreed with rape; rapists were sick people as far as he was concerned, and should all be hanged) no, what he liked was the death and torture. The victims screaming and begging and weeping; then as their eyes closed, their final breaths exhaled, Crane would get that Really Great Feeling again.

However, it was when he was in his mid-teens that there was a significant change; Johnny discovered snuff films, and boy did that open up a new world! Crane had an epiphany when watching his first one; Crane finally realised that he had been wasting all these years analysing the fake deaths of fake people; how stupid! It didn't mean anything if they were not real, were not truly frightened. It was then that Johnny began to scare the children at school, when he began to distinguish between the weak, easy people (like Tetch) and the evil thugs he should leave alone should he want to live (like Dent.)

Everything about the fear, the scent of nervous sweat, the shaking bodies, the sighs and gasps- all of those things enraptured him. Ever wanting a bigger hit, his obsession with fear and death grew and grew. But watching people die, until he finally succumbed to his beautiful and powerful alter ego, the Scarecrow, he had been stuck with snuff films and his own fantasies.

In the current timeline, Crane stared avidly at the prison guards. Cocksmore was putting up a fight, he was screaming, yelling at the Mad Hatter, he even turned and began to plead to Crane, "God, please, man, please. I know I wasn't always the best guy, but it's stressful here." _Oh man_, Crane grinned, _Cocksmore's beginning to __**cry**_, _hahaha_...

"Please, I have a child and a wife. Please, for their sakes. Everything I did, taking on this job, taking all the pressure, the daily fear, I did it so I could feed 'em, send my little girl to school, get 'er an education and outta this city...please...please..."

Croc snarled as it loped towards them. Cocksmore began to pray.

"Please, God please, I'll do anything. I can change, you'll see, I'll be a changed man, I'll help you both, please, please..."

Hanson, on the other hand, wasn't doing anything. He was like a doll, his head leaning on one shoulder, his eyes wide and unblinking. It was as if his brain had shut down; Hanson was no longer even there.

As Croc slowly entered the room, doubtless curious but suspicious, Crane backed into the hallway and looked at Hatter. The blond man was looking at Croc; it was strange, his eyes were normally quite human, when he was Tetch, they were full of various emotions and shades. But as Hatter, his eyes looked as if someone had coloured them in a standard blue pencil. There was nothing there, nothing...

Closing the door, Crane was left alone in the C-Block hallway, surrounded by cells and distant screams. It was up to Hatter now.

* * *

"Damnit Clark, no!" Perry yelled, lighting his cigar.

"But Chief, Arkham has..."

"Arkham is always being taken over by the lunatics!" The hot headed man interrupted. Clark gulped, Perry didn't have the best health and often seemed over stressed. "In fact, I think most of the time the lunatics are running that Asylum. We have Luther to worry about, Kent! His popularity is soaring and nearly every paper has sold out to him." He motioned to a disarrayed pile of rival newspapers on his desk; all of them had a grinning Lex Luther on the front with headline proclamations of him being a great President if elected. "We are the only one's telling the truth about that waste of space! I'm not having my best man running off in the middle of the presidential campaign."

Unconsciously, the Chief picked up a picture of his family, whilst still berating Clark. In the picture were his wife and their son Jerry. A few years back, Perry White found out that the boy he had raised and thought of as his own was in fact Luther's son. The news had crushed him, and he had never really recovered. His hatred for Luther had escalated to a very personal vendetta, sometimes Clark wondered if the man hated Luther more than he did. Times like now made it seem very likely.

"Chief," Clark kept his voice low and calm, the voice he used whenever people were in a stressful situation, like trapped in a burning building or stuck in a closed space with a bomb. He found that at least one calm voice was usually enough to restore rational and reasonable thinking. That in turn, bought about hope...but still. "Chief, I understand all of that. I promise you that my heart is in this campaign and making sure Luther stays out of Office. However, Gotham is right next door to us. The Daily Planet sells well in their city, the only paper from Metropolis that does. We have a good relationship with Gotham readers, which is rare. I don't want us to alienate them like so many other papers do. Often the people are completely ignored and left to fend for themselves, and I know from my sources that Luther has a bad reputation with them. They think that as soon as he is in power, he will be the only, or first, president ruthless enough to expel them from the U.S. They're scared and angry. I'll only be gone for a few days," he continued as Perry put down the photo to turn and look at him. "And you still have your best reporters working on the Luther campaign. I'll be back in two days, tops, I swear."

"Why should I send you, my best man? Why not Jenkins or Beckford?"

"Because they're not well known enough in that city, and I'm sure they have no contacts. The moment they hit Gotham streets, the people will recognise their accents. Then we know what will happen, robbery at best..." Clark trailed off. There was a reason why people from Metropolis (or any part of America) never, ever travelled _to_ Gotham. Many Metropolis journalists, trying to find out about the Falcone gangs, or, even worse, the Rogue Gallery, entered Gotham and were never heard of again. The other ones that were found were either found dead or had become part of the gangs and violence and madness they were meant to be reporting on. Now there was even an insurance policy for going into Gotham.

"Of course you do have friends and contacts in Gotham don't you?" Perry sat down behind his desk. While he was no longer shouting, Clark realised he was still on the defence; Perry was angry and frustrated, and Clark had just managed to exacerbate that with his request to go to Gotham.

"What do you mean, Chief?"  
"Don't play dumb. Let me guess, your powerful friend Mr Wayne called you up about this didn't he? No one else knows about the break out, why? Because no one cares. It's a daily occurrence in that city! " Clark squirmed, a little uncomfortable with how callous his boss was being about the plight of Gotham; Chief did have a point, but still...

"I know that Wayne's enterprises loses some of its power in the stock market every time this disaster happens." Perry sighed and wiped his brow. "The entire city's economy is going to shit because of those damn rogues and their fun."

"People are dying Sir," Clark mentioned quietly, hoping to bring the humanity back into the Chief. "There's starvation, mass homelessness, tribalism. It's not America, it's like a third world nation there."

"And what is you going there going to achieve, Clark?"

"Hope Chief!" Clark replied quickly and emotively. Of course, Clark knew he was talking about the hope his alter ego would bring also. "To know that they aren't forgotten, that we don't think they are important." He looked back at the papers, "we need them on side, as most of Metropolis is on the side of Luther."

"Yeah, great, great, no one listens to reason except for the inhabitants of the most unreasonable, right-wing, dangerous and backwards city in the entire world."

"Maybe they recognise danger, Chief, better than are more comfortable readers," Clark looked out the window to all of Metropolis. The beautiful sky scrapers loaded with people who were rich and happy and content. It was easy for them to be relaxed around apparently changed criminals like Luther; people from the ruined Gotham would not be so easy going or libertarian. Clark Kent was a liberal man; he was into equality, he believed that men and women, and people of all colours, were of one race. Being not even from this world, Clark understood minorities better than they would ever realise. He knew what it was like to be the freak, the weird one, the one that was misunderstood. It was for that reason hat Clark didn't agree with the death penalty. Everyone deserved the chance to change, to be trusted again.

For Clark, humanity didn't mean your genes or you DNA; humanity was the most beautiful part of the human soul; the part that encouraged people to help one another, even to their own detriment, the part that looked at the beauty of the world, and was so in awe of it and so inspired, that they would go on to create things filled with the wisdom of mankind and the raw beauty and power of nature; humanity was love, and passion and all the things that made life, along with all its ugliness, worth _living_.

When Clark, or Superman, first met Batman, he was stunned, and quite frankly sickened at the brutal way the shadowy figure dealt with and disposed of villains. Whilst violence was inevitable in stopping crime, the Batman seemed the revel in it. More than once, men had been nearly beaten to death by the vigilante. Even everyday Gothamites seemed more brutal than what was necessary. Unlike Metropolis, Gotham had the death penalty. The death penalty clearly did not reduce crime, but there was an outcry whenever someone in power tried to abolish it. Clark quickly ascertained that the Gothamites did not want Corporal punishment because they thought it worked; they wanted it for revenge.

Superman did not understand their attitude, until he went into Batman's world. Gotham is a dark city, full of misery and helplessness. Criminals were selfish creatures that leached off the people and what little they had in order to satisfy themselves. Mobsters stole what little material goods the people had; local government taxed the rest.

The Rogue Gallery kept people in constant fear, kept telling them that they were inferior in intelligence that they were helpless to the Rogues desires and whims. Someone like Joker wants you dead? It's going to happen. Penguin wants to buy your entire business at a cheap cost that will leave you broke? No matter, it's going to happen. More than once, Clark thought of the Rogue Gallery as cruel and blood thirsty Heathen Gods. The likes of Joker caused millions to suffer, just because it amused him. Thousands would die, if Ivy thought that would help preserve her precious flowers.

It had gotten to the point where the people of Gotham were more than angry, they were incandescent. They hated the criminals more than anyone. Batman was not the only vigilante, there were many in Gotham, all of them violent and with almost impossible demands of morality. Bruce was always unhappy because he never could live up to his own expectations; because they were too high, for any person. So Bruce, like these other groups, attacked criminals with such fervour because they were angry and disillusioned at themselves and the city. When in their shoes, it was easy to get angry and bitter also. Whenever he thought of Gotham, Clark would get a sinking feeling in his chest. It depressed him; and it had the same affect on other people.

The rich and comfortable could afford to be liberal; but people in dangerous times could not. If they were anything less than stern, forceful and extreme, they would probably die.

"I'm going to ask you a question Clark, and I want an honest and straight answer."

Clark was pulled out of his thoughts at the Chiefs request. "Sure, Chief. Ok."

"Are you in Wayne's pocket?"

"What? No. What do you mean?"

"I mean is he paying you!" Perry slammed his fist on his desk, making all the papers fall to the ground; he ignored them. "Are you doing this because he's your pal? Honestly I'm a little disturbed that you're friends with such a man. I always thought highly of you- no, I do think highly of you Clark. You and Lois. But Wayne is a typical fat cat, money man, only he is lazier because he was born into money. Not like us who had to work to get where we are. You've seen what he is like, a money and time waster, a Lothario with the ladies. I don't appreciate one of my best reporters being at the beck and call of a man like that. You're better than that Clark."

"With respect, chief, you don't know Bruce. He's a good guy. It's true that he told me of this situation, but I have chosen to go there."

"Do have any idea how difficult it is to get into Gotham?"

"Huh?"

Perry rooted around in his drawer before pulling out a sheet of formal-looking paper.

"This is a pass to get into the city. I want you back in two days, understood?"

"Yes Chief. And thank you."

* * *

The first team entered into Arkham, swiftly they broke into three parts, each going down their designated path. It was completely silent, there was no living thing here, of that they were certain. With unearthly quiet, the heaily booted, heavily armed men flittered through the dark hallways. Through their gas masks they could not speak, even if they could they wouldn't for fear of alerting to Enemy to their presence. The air was cold and the pale, off-white walls were damp and slightly mouldy. As they travelled deeper into the belly of Arkham, they began to step on blood soaked floors. The walls, once damp with perspiration, were now spattered with gore. A red-hue gradually increased, setting an even more ominous tone. The reason why that was, was as soon as C-Block was broken open the alarms went up, flashing red and screeching. Now the sound was off (_thank God for small mercies_) but most of the lights were still flickering. Others were completely smashed, rendering their area in complete darkness. No natural light from windows was allowed into Arkham, windows only encouraged and abetted escape.

Their collective breathing grew shallow and desperate as they walked through the entrails of unfortunate staff and patients. All these people had been innocent. They were the kind of people that weren't even a threat to the C-block prisoners; killing these people must have been like stamping on the head of a kitten. Any patient who was considered dangerous, a schizophrenic suffering paranoid delusions or a disproportionately drugged manic depressive on a high, would be taken in by the Rogues and used to their advantage. Many Arkham patients, after settling with their pills and realising their crimes, were so racked with guilt they took their own lives.

Everyone in Gotham was a victim of the Rogues.

Steeling themselves, the teams powered on. They knew the root they had to take; it was simple enough. Their only goal was to get any survivors. Well, it was looking like that was going to be easy; there was clearly no one alive. With their feet and guns, they pushed the torn limbs and torsos around, trying to find anyone alive under the carnage. One of the things that often stunned the police forces and SOCO was the way the Rogues managed to completely destroy humans; it was clear to anyone who saw their mess that these...creatures, did not consider themselves the same as their fellow man. Or if they did, they truly hated themselves and their species.

Officer Andrew Kelly was heading up the team who were entering B-Block. He had done this before, three years ago. He had barely escaped with his life and was still in counselling. Kelly was from a macho family who lived just outside of Gotham, in the city's less than idyllic countryside aka wastelands. They were the kind of people that scorned at terms like therapy and counselling. However, when Kelly finally admitted to his father that he was going to counselling for what happened in Arkham, his father simply nodded and gave him a quick pat on the back. Nothing more was ever said. Kelly was grateful. He had been pulled aside by the Commissioner when the orders for a sweep of Arkham were given; he was told that he didn't have to go, that the others and Gordon himself understood and it was ok. However, after three years of not going whenever the freaks got their way, Kelly decided that he wasn't going to let his comrades enter with another man missing. He was more than aware of how low their numbers were.

Breathing heavily through his mask, eyeing the destruction and trying to ignore the hideous stench of death, Kelly decided that if he died today, he would have died a man looking into the abyss. No one could ever call him a coward. He would deserve the stars and stripes being laid across his coffin.

However, by no means was he welcoming death. He had a fine lady and their two children waiting for him back home. He was going to propose to her tonight. They had been putting off for some years, mainly because they could not afford a proper wedding and she didn't want a wedding without class. Well, he had decided to finally let her know that the money and fancy wedding idea could go to hell, he loved her and wanted her as , and that anything involving her equalled class.

* * *

Blinking his arid eyes as much as his heavily encrusted eyelids would allow; the thing that was Croc peered into the showers. Licking the air, it's damaged and freakishly elongated tongue forming patterns in the space in front of it, It could taste the atmosphere; the prevalent mood was deep seated fear. This pleased It. They should be afraid. Walking closer, it heaved itself on its back legs (a manner of moving that was increasingly difficult) but he knew that by raising himself to his full height, the fear would increase.

Cocksmore screamed and Hanson fainted.

The Mad Hatter who had been quietly humming to himself allowed a brief frown to mar his placid and emotionally void face temporarily. Walking over to the man, he kicked his head, then he pulled a shower head forward and sprayed with the same cold murky water he had been forced to wash in a few hours ago. Hanson woke up.

It roared in pleasure.

No one in the showers could see Croc properly; his angry rash under hardened scales, sore almost blind eyes and details of his razor sharp teeth were hidden.

What could be seen was a huge, hulking figure, silhouetted against an amber gold- the hallway lighted by the dim light bulbs. The head of Croc was still too small, the long snout hidden from view due to his angle. His arms were long and dragged against the floor like that of a gorilla. He was so tall that the top of his head grazed against the ceiling. However, the thing that once was Croc seemed not to notice.

He was walking similar to how Crane did; that odd, jerking movement of shuffling forward, but, due to having long legs, it almost seemed like it should have been a stride. Like Crane, It didn't seem to move its knees enough either. It almost seemed to totter, as if it could fall any minute. It was almost humorous; only, of course, it actually wasn't, on account of the imminent horrible torture and death that waited. Same as Crane all round really...

"You fool!" Cocksmore screamed at the man he thought was Tetch. "Don't ya see? You're gonna get killed and eat too! Scarecrow is out of here, he left you to die! C'mon Tetch!" Cocksmore looked at the vacant creature. Tetch looked back. It was deeply alarming and it reminded Cocksmore of a story he had once tried to read. In the story, two very stupid and vacant people were described as looking "not as a man looks at a wall; but how a wall looks at a man." And that was the best way he could describe the blond's current expression.

Cocksmore gave up. He groaned loudly, the closest he ever came to a pitiful sob. In that one groan was all the anguish and pain and suffering and regret a single human can feel in a lifetime, locked into one single sound. Cocksmore knew when a Rogue was 'no longer home' so to speak; and that was Tetch and Croc at this time. In fact, Croc had been out of it for months now, it had gotten to the point where all the docs and guards had all been pretty concerned about his condition. Croc had never been humane, but watching him turn into a sort of comotose animal was freakish. He couldn't even speak with the equivelent of a wild animal and a living, emotionless puppet, Cocksmore knew he had no chance of reasoning or bullying or fighting his way out of this situation, if the police were here they'd either leave this place until (and it took hours to check everywhere in Arkham, so he'd be long dead by the time they did arrive) or they themselves were already dead or dying. His best chance was the Bat, but everyone knew he only came out at night; it's why the Rogues tended to escape in the day.

Outside of the showers, Crane snickered, "_here come the Chopper to chop off your head,_" Scarecrow whispered. He had heard the wail of the unfortunate guard and got that Really Great Feeling. Pushing the entire front of his body against the door, Crane continued to listen. He wanted to hear them get eaten, _hahahaha_... The best part was, regardless of whether the plan failed or succeeded, he was now safe and free to enjoy the torture up ahead.

Scarecrow cocked his head to one side, stroking the door with his left hand.

"_Who'll be chief mourner?" "I," said the Dove,  
"I mourn for my love, I'll be chief mourner."_

Wait...no...Hatter would be dead. Crane blinked, so what if the Hatter died? Did Scarecrow like the Hatter? Why? Crane was confused, Scarecrow was a higher sentient being. Higher sentient beings did not need or want friends.

"_All the birds of the air fell a-sighing and a-sobbing,  
When they heard the bell toll for poor Cock Robin."_

So why did Scarecrow want Hatter, especially as the Hatter was so weak and incomplete? It was always strange and acutely distressing for Crane when he did not understand Scarecrow. They were different but also one in the same.

"_"Oranges AND lemons" say the __Bells of St. Clement's__..."_

When they disagreed, it physically hurt for a start. It would feel like the brain was ripping in two, pulling in opposite directions. The feeling was like a migraine, his eyesight would begin to go, dizziness and fatigue and sickness would take its place.

And then there was the reaction of his body. With two beings in it, when they worked together it was fine. But when one was angry, or upset, and the other wasn't it bought about general confusion. Right now, Crane's face had gone from grinning to frowning to confused and now his whole body had slumped to the floor. He was shaking.

The worst part of not feeling in tune with Scarecrow was the loneliness. As long as he had Scarecrow, Crane always had someone to talk to, someone to share his fears and aspirations with. Crane was never alone. But when they disagreed, Scarecrows nursery rhyme and riddle speech were no more logical to Crane than they were anyone else; and that hurt.

"Ok, Ok," Crane muttered. "We like Tetch...no...we like Hatter. To like Hatter we need to like Tetch...ok...ok...Oranges and Lemons. Oranges and Lemons..." Crane breathed in deeply as his migraine began to dissipate. He slowly stood back up. "We're ok, we're friends and together. Now we have a new friend..." Crane wondered briefly if Scarecrow wanted a new friend in order to get rid of him but he dismissed it. Scarecrow and Crane would always be together, and maybe, one day, Crane would vanish as his own, autonomous entity and instead become a part of Scarecrow forever, which would be great. There was no possible way that Crane could be replaced.

Suddenly, a spine tingling scream ripped through the air from the Shower area, and Crane burst out laughing.

* * *

**A/N. Ok, I'm, leaving it here for now because this chapter is so long! I like my chapters to be around 1500 words long. This was over _four thousand_! (Imagine me screeching the preceeding sentence Vegita style.) **

**To me, that's way too long. **

**However, I didn't want to leave you guys with just the Kent conversation (yawn) and I didn't want to leave it out. I thought it'd be interesting to show how (I imagine) other people would view the Rogues, Arkham and Gotham in general. Plus, a lot of different people are doing stuff at the same time right now, so I';m trying to go through them all, whilst keeping the story flowing nicely. Hopefully I managed to do that. Anyway, tune in for the next chapter (hopefully up in less than a month! I'm so bad at updating! I'm sorry!) where we will see what's happening in the showers (lol, with all the yaoi that flows around this site, I bet that sentence has been used so many times before, but meant something so different,) and we'll get to see the three SWAT groups making their way through Arkham, and all the things they find. Also, the psychological aspect will play a little more heavily in the next chapter, especially in regards to Tetch, as I am sure you are all wondering what the hell is going on in that crazy little head of his.**

**Btw, Officer Kelly is a real character from the series. The only people I made up were Cocksmore and Hanson.**

**Finally, the ''not as a man looks at a wall; but how a wall looks at a man" qoute is from Titus Groan by Mervyn Peak, a very strange Gothic series about a mad family of royals, the crumbling land they rule and a machivellian psycho who is slowly killing them off. That qoute makes me laugh, and yet describes so well how I am trying to portray Tetch.**


	15. Into the Rabbit Hole

**"...and burning with curiosity, she ran across the field after it, and fortunately was just in time to see it pop down a large rabbit-hole under the hedge. **

**In another moment down went Alice after it, never once considering how in the world she was to get out again."**

* * *

Tetch's seldom ever thought of his family. Since arriving in America as a young man, his entire life was goal driven. He was focused on getting into a good university; on getting the best grades; on getting a great job; on completing his theories within cognitive neuroscience. Tetch only ever looked at the future. He, unlike Crane, never analysed the past.

Lost in his own mind, Tetch felt curiously alert. Usually when situations got too difficult and he faded away, his inner wonderland was dream-like and vague. However, this time he was self-aware. And for the first time in many years, Tetch began to wonder about his family. He was fairly certain that his mother was a small frail creature... at least by what he remembered. She was anxious and tense, so tightly coiled that she could spring any moment as if she were a monster crouching down in secret, watching carefully waiting for the right time to strike. He loved and feared her.

He was standing in what looked like the English countryside. The landscape was a patchwork of vast fields of various shades of green stretching into the horizon. The only interruption was a large, pale blue mansion.

Tetch knew this place. He came here in his dreams. Was this where he had grown up? He couldn't remember.

"It's not normal to not remember," he whispered to himself. "Maybe when I am myself and in the real world I do remember. Maybe it's because in this place reality and fantasy are too confused so I lose who I am. Just like Alice did when in Wonderland. But then, even Alice remembered Dinah and her sister."

At that moment, Tetch saw two people sitting on the lawn. One was a thin woman who had no distinct features. Her face seemed blurred and nondescript. Next to her was a pretty little girl. Her hair was as blonde as Tetch's. However, her face was much more pleasant than his; it was cherubic and sweet.

"Alice?"

He was certain that the woman was his mother. So who was the girl? Was she, perhaps, his sister? Yes, yes, she must have been. After all, Tetch did have a sister. "Yes, I'm sure I did. Was her name Alice also?"

Where was the father in all this? There was the house, the background, the mother and sibling. Tetch vaguely noted that his Father never appeared in his dreams. Though he did have a Father, he was certain. Lewis Carroll had loved females. Namely very young girls. Not boys or men...not even adult women. Was Tetch the same? Oh well, no matter.

Tetch looked down at the grass, it was wilting and the strong green colour began to run on to his hands. He lifted them up and analysed them. It was as if they were covered in green ink. Looking around, Tetch saw that everything was melting, like some sort of Dali-inspired nightmare. He stood and turned to the two women, his sister and mother. His mouth opened as he tried to say, "the land is melting."

But his sister merely laughed. His mother looked at him with wide eyes...looking at him with fear, as if he were insane. "I'm not insane!" He tried to scream, but nothing came out. The beautiful, pale-blue mansion in the foreground tumbled down like a great crashing wave. Tetch was engulfed, tossed to and fro in wild waters. He tried to scream for help, flailing wildly in the inky mess. He could hear a child crying. But where? And what child? And why was the child crying?

Breaking to the top of the water, he saw an embankment. On it stood Alice. She was wearing her pretty blue smock, baby doll shoes and her long blonde hair was out, pushed back by a simply blue head band. Just like the Disney version of Alice. He called for help, "_I'm drowning,_ _I'm drowning_," but she ran away.

She left him to die. She left him, but why?

Had she ever loved him? _No...no...no-one loved him..._

Normally, this would be the time Tetch would leave this place. But he couldn't and wouldn't this time! He would not allow his fear to overtake him but rather, he would keep going, stay a little longer, and try to solve the riddle of this internal Wonderland.

Instead of allowing himself to drown and pass out, he instead ploughed forward and began to swim. He would find his sister. He would find her and discover why she hated him so much she was prepared to leave him to drown in tears.

On the outside, The Mad Hatter, a barely formed second personality of Jervis Tetch, held sway. Did he think? Did he plan? Most of the current plan had been what he actually suggested (albeit in a strange Carroll code that only Scarecrow could decipher). If The Mad Hatter had a personality or any thought processes, he hid them well. His face was blank and immobile. He was strangely child-like, more so than Tetch (who, though Tetch looked younger than what he was, it was still obvious that he was a small man rather than a young child.) The Mad Hatter could easily be mistaken for a pre-pubescent twelve-year-old. Crane even wondered if The Mad Hatter was a '_him'_ or an '_It_'.

Circling behind the sacrifices, The Hatter clenched his hands as if in prayer. The thing-that-was-once-Killer-Croc crooned; It was pleased. It towered over the screaming Cocksmore before falling down upon him and tearing his head off. As the body of the beheaded guard continued to shake and kick like a beheaded chicken, It turned its attention to Hanson, who sat still and covered in the gore and blood of his co-worker. Grasping the man's middle It lifted him from the ground and began to shake him. The body, which now looked small and weak in the jaws of It ripped in half and fell to the ground. Blood splashed upon the walls and ran across the floors into the small drains.

However, outside Scarecrow had not been idle. Whilst had Crane pondered on The Mad Hatter's nature, Scarecrow had busied himself with practicalities. Just outside of C-Block, in the area where Tetch had first seen the guards watching the CCTV, was the cabinet where all the Rogues weapons were kept. The room had long been ripped open and raided. Crane's Fear Toxin was the only thing left.

One rule that the Rogues always followed was that they did not steal each other's work. If any of the Rogues needed another's speciality, they would need to ask the person. This wasn't due to any 'honour between thieves' feeling. It was common sense. The Rogues, as much as they fought, bickered and competed with one another, had to respect each other's speciality. To pick up someone else's work would inevitably end in disaster. For example, both Crane and Ivy worked with scientific potions to elicit certain responses from living organisms. However Crane knew that in no way could he hope to control Ivy's plants if he stole the potions she used to make them self-aware monsters, because it was not his forte. Likewise, all the criminals, regardless of how clever they were, were not foolish enough to steal and use Cranes work. Only he could work them properly.

Therefore, his Toxins had been left safe and sound. However, there was something else in the cabinet; a number of white rectangular motherboards. "They must be The Hatter's," he muttered to himself, and after a moment's thought, pocketed them. He didn't know much about electronics, but what he knew of Tetch suggested that these were mind control devices. Very interesting and very useful...Crane began to realise that joining with Tetch wouldn't be a total waste...

Running back into C Block, he climbed up into a shaft just above the door that led to the showers.

He looked up at an air vent above the door. It was this that would save them from Croc.

Arkham asylum had a labyrinth of air vents, especially as areas like C-Block were underground. Without the air vents air would never be properly circulated and the building would have to be shut down. However, these vents were covered over with heavy grids and had sharp needles on their floors. This was done in order to prevent prisoners from escaping through them.

However, the vent leading from C-Block hallway to the Showers did not have these protections, the reason why is because no one can escape out of Arkham through it, it just leads from one room into the next. Its sole function is to give the steam of the showers somewhere the go. The bathroom had no windows and the de-humidifier was poor. By the steam travelling through the vent into C-Block, it could escape through the small but also heavily gridded window on C-Block ceiling, (the window that, when the moon was out, gave a slither of hope to all the captives.)

Crane climbed into the air vent with ease. He was a slim man, so he could fit and move around inside it. He was also tall, so that with a stretch he was able to pull himself inside.

There was an iron grid blocking the vent entrance into the showers. Peeking through the lines of metal, Crane could see the thing that was once Croc munching through the still wriggling corpses of Hanson and Cocksmore. Various shades of blood were splashed all over the tiles. The area stank of carnage. Crane smiled slightly, he appreciated the art of destruction. However, he did not feel ecstatic. There was no Really Good feeling. He had not seen the men die. He had not seen the light in their eyes fade away. He did not see them beg and trying to escape. He had missed all the good stuff.

Tetch was underneath him, seemingly staring at the scene before him. If Tetch had been afraid Crane would get a sniff of his favourite drug. Unfortunately the blond was still in Mad Hatter mode. And the Hatter seemed to feel nothing.

With a slight push, the grate was wrenched off the vent; its screws rusted from all the steam and mildew that had built up over the many years. Reaching out his long arms down, he helped Hatter climb into the Vent.

Though Its eyes were injured, it could still smell. Crane's arrival was noted. Looking over, It just managed to spot Tetch being pulled into the small vent.

How dare he try to escape! With a roar (spitting out bloodied spittle) the creature leapt into the vent, desperate to snatch the unbelievers into his jaws.

This only resulted in him slamming into the wall, further injuring his snout.

The two men backed out of the air vent quickly, working backwards. Once outside, Crane got his fear gas and sprayed it through the shaft. Its screams of frustration and anger quickly changed to ones of terror. Crane cackled. But he was alone. The Mad Hatter took no delight in the pain of Croc. Instead, his focus was focused internally, as it had been most of the morning.

Hatter was watching Tetch.

* * *

**A/N. I can only apologise for how long it's been since the last up-date. I've been struggling to write this chapter. It's like the science of writing was fine, but I couldn't put in the creativity or art. I just couldn't get the symbolism correct.**

**I doubt that made any sense but just know that I am sorry and it hasn't been updated late due to laziness. **


	16. Women

**Helmeted valkyries came down from the sky**

—**the noise of spears grew loud—they protected the prince;**

**then said Sigrun—the wound-giving valkyries flew,**

**the troll-woman's mount was feasting on the fodder of ravens...**

_Helgakviða Hundingsbana I_

_

* * *

_

All throughout ancient history one creature has been simultaneously adored, revered and feared. This creature was seen as a Creator, a Bringer of Life, a being whose body followed a natural cycle in sync with the natural rhythms of the Earth. This creature was also a witch, a shapeshifter, the one who ruined mankind and bought about the Fall, a liar, manipulative and sexual deviant.

The Female.

The Witch.

The Earth Mother.

Beautiful, powerful, fertile.

The pagans used to worship their Earth Mothers and Fertility goddesses; Gaya, Nerthus, Freya and so on. In their purest form, the women of the Teutonic fairytales (before the Grimms and Perrault altered them for their own purposes) all the women in those stories were powerful, saved themselves and many of them (including, for example, Cinderella) were witches. They used their resourcefulness, their beauty and the love men had for them to defeat their enemies and achieve their goal. The Valkyries or shield women of the Vikings were not attractive blondes, but fear-inspiring warriors who carried only the deserving to Valhalla.

Women were a mysterious strength that could not be calculated or understood easily.

Yet, the female was also hated and feared. The Earth Mother was capable of great cruelty, of making cold hearted decisions. Women have been, time and time again, demonised in history. Eve took the fruit and seduced her husband into doing the same; had he not loved her so much, he would have been saved. Pandora opened the box that caused misery and suffering throughout the world of all eternity. The witch ceased to be seen as a wise woman and was instead vilified. People forgot the beauty of Freya and only remembered the hideous crone, the shape shifting evil that was also part of her persona.

In modern stories were have the Femme Fatale. Sexy and alluring, she seduces all the men, as if she has cast a spell on them. But then the Femme Fatale is selfish, hard and calculating. She is a spider, using the male and, if he is foolish enough to get caught in her web, drained of his blood. In the end of the story the Femme Fatale nearly always dies or ends up alone.

Women, in turn loved and hated worshiped and demonised, by both men and other women.

* * *

Desperately swimming in the bright blue floods, Tetch realised that it was this moment when he would normally be ejaculated forcefully from, his dreams. "But this time I've been strong enough to stay," he thought. "I wonder why? What has changed, I was always determined to remain before, but something always threw me out."

Tetch finally pulled himself up against the riverbank and laughed a little breathlessly. The water lapped up against his feet and sun shone down and warmed his sore, tired body. He was happy for finally making it out of the water; he was quite convinced on a few occasions that he was going to die in there. But he was also happy because he was so lucid. In the weeks or months he had been in Arkham they had been forcing their disgusting drugs upon him. He wasn't even sure what they were, as he often fell in and out of consciousness. So even if they had told him, he hadn't remembered what they were. The drugs had made his head feel as though it was stuffed with cotton wool. Everything was blurred and strange. And then there was that addition of having strange uttering's coming out of his mouth. He often used to think in Carroll-ian speech, but he had always translated it into modern, sensible English before speaking. But recently, things seemed to have reversed. He would think, granted in a foggy brain, in ordinary speech, but it would come out in the strange Lewis Caroll fashion.

But now, suddenly, he could think again. He felt more like his own self. He felt more in control of his body. As he lay there he realised fully that this body was his and his alone. And that was wonderfully appealing. "It's like," he thought, "it's like I am a puppet who became conscious and has had his strings removed. I am free and I am myself."

He opened his eyes, his clear blue irises looking unusually sharp and intelligent. Now was no time for lying around and enjoying independence. He had to find out what was going on, what these dreams meant. Standing up he looked around. The surroundings still looked beautiful but fake. The long, green rolling hills met a crystal blue sky. But it looked like a painting more than the real world.

"That little girl," he thought, "she must be my sister. But why was she dressed as Alice? Did she look like Alice in real life? I do not remember. I do not remember...anything..." He began to walk forward, following no particular path, his mind deep in thought. When had he stopped thinking of his family? When had he become a lone individual with no ties?

He looked back to where the blue waves were. The river was still quite wild. A river of tears. She had stood by the bank and had not come after him. He remembered the feeling of being betrayed. It stung his chest and made his heart ache. "She must have betrayed me," he realised. "She left me to die! Even though she were my own sibling! And maybe, maybe that's what started me down this dark path. Maybe it was then that I began to obsess over Alice, that I began to constantly search for a new version of her. I wanted to replace my cruel sister with an Alice who loved me. This breakdown was my sister's doing. It is all her fault."

Now one choice lay before him; did he investigate further to try and find out why she did not love him, or did he turn back now and return to reality? A negative consequence of choosing the former could result in Tetch finding out a few nasty truths. He had evidently done his best to forget his past, was it worth dragging it all up again? Plus, he felt a certain dread at the thought that his sister hated him. The last thing he wanted was more reasons to dislike himself. But then, on the other hand, he was not keen on returning to Arkham any time soon. Plus, if he worked out his problems maybe he could finally begin to heal and get over them?

Clark hurtled down the freeway, sympathising with the drivers on the opposite side of the road. The way out of Gotham was traffic jammed. Several families, including young children looked tense and stressed. He had seen several people looking through their wallets and purses, counting money and looking unhappy.

"Unless they have somewhere to go," reasoned Clark, "they'll have to spend money in motels. Most Gothamites are too poor. Many of them will sleep rough tonight. The lucky ones will sleep in their cars." As he got closer to the city, the black high-rise buildings scaring the beautiful sky line, Clark saw men and women walking out of the city carrying plastic bags of food and thin blankets. These ones had no cars and would have to survive the elements until Gotham was remotely habitable again. Many of them had young, starved children. It was as if a natural disaster had hit a third world country. Well, the whole of Arkham being released was a natural disaster. Unless Clark could round them up quickly, all of America would be on high alert for the next few months. Until they were rounded up, while Rogues were free en masse, the whole of America would be fraught with bombings, murder, thefts, assassinations and rapes.

Clark regretted using the car instead of flying, but everyone had watched him leave from work. It would have looked odd if he had left his car behind. Once on the freeway, there was nowhere to leave it. Instead he stepped on the accelerator.

Being a convincing undercover hero was a lot harder than people thought.

* * *

Half an hour into the operation, thirty men had already been killed. Low league grunts were smashing their way out of Arkham. One team that were in their way simply got smashed to pieces. The grunts crashed on top of them, grabbed their heads and smashed them into the ugly, white-tiled walls. The helmets the teams had been wearing fell to pieces. Gotham had let them down again. Too cheap to pay for decent uniform, the men had to wear protective gear that was made out of cheap material. Against Arkham inmates, they may as well entered wearing baseball caps, cotton t-shits and cheap jeans. Of course, as soon as the grunts reached outside they had a small but well-stocked firing squad facing them down. As soon as the firing squad saw the men had remains of human flesh and blood on their uniforms, it took but a moment for them to know what had happened to their colleagues and they had opened fire.

Eye for an eye.

Tooth for a tooth.

Life for a...

The smarter criminals, the Rogues were nowhere to be seen. Rogues tended only to be seen when they wanted to be seen.

Agent Andrew Kelley leading the way around Block A had unfortunately came across Egg Man who was busy sewing up a young nurse.

Slowly he backed away. He knew that Egg Man wasn't as evil as the others, but he certainly was dangerous and psychotic. The orders had been to save those who they could, but to avoid Rogues at all costs. Well, he was happy to go by those rules. He didn't want his head to be smashed against the wall; blood and brains spattered out like a piece of modern art. He looked carefully at the nurse, who had all of Egg Mans attention. Her hand was twitching. Before he backed away, he told himself that she was dead already and that it was just her nerves.

Unfortunately, he was so focused on stepping away as silently as possible, he had failed to notice a small, child-like blonde female skulking underneath a table just behind him. She would look so beautiful and innocent to anyone who wasn't paying too much attention to her eyes. Her little blonde curls were bunched either side of her head. A platinum blonde, with clear skin and azalea eyes. Had she looked like a grown woman, had she ever gotten that chance, she would have had men falling in love with her at every turn. The world would have been at her feet. He fact that she couldn't act wouldn't have mattered, she would have been pretty enough for the entire world to love her anyway.

Baby doll was genuinely insane, and it showed in her eyes. Those blue orbs were shrouded with hate. Baby Doll hated everyone. Everyone. The complete non-acceptance of her fate with Turners Syndrome had left her an angry shell of a human. Andrew Kelley had never done a thing to Baby Doll, but that didn't matter to her. The whole universe had played a mean prank on her, and she was gonna get it back.

Her hand tightened around her best friend 'Mr Happy Head' as she began to move out of her hidey-hole and closer to her victim. She stood, held out Mr Happy Head and aimed.

Andrew Kelley screamed as one of his knees was blown away suddenly. Suddenly on the floor, he could smell his own blood and feel it gushing underneath him as it spread across the floor.

Just before he blacked out from the pain, he heard a child giggle.

* * *

Clark began to slow a little as he came close to the toll booth and the entry into Gotham. Armed guards stood all around, their black sunglasses and batons glinting in the sunlight. It was now noon exactly and the Rogues had been out of their cells for three hours. Three hours was a long time. As Clark came to a halt, one of the guards walked up to him. He motioned for him to roll down the window, even though Clark had already begun to do so.

The guard was thin faced, and with the addition of the large sunglasses, he reminded Clark of some kind of bug.

"You thinking of going in?" The guard asked, his Gotham accent strong and biting. Clark never quite got used to the harsh accent. People said New Yorkers sounded tough, but Gothamites were worse. Compared to Gothamites New Yorkers sounded like the high class of England speaking the Queens English whilst at a tea party. Bruce was lucky to be a rich boy who went to nice, posh schools. His accent was notably watered down.

"Yeah," he replied and smiled pleasantly. "I'm a reporter-"

"You don't want to go in there," interrupted the guard and Clark had to swallow a bubble of anger."Arkham was broken yesterday. Again." The guard popped some bubblegum he had been chewing between talking. "The whole city is on shut down, we don't want tourists getting blown to pieces now." He chuckled throatily, suggesting he had been a smoker for several years. Clark got the joke. There were no tourists in Gotham. There was nothing to see. Haha.

"I've got a pass," Clark pushed, holding up the pass Perry had given him. The guard didn't even glance at it.

"We ain't letting no-one in," he insisted. "orders from the Powers That Be." The guard inclined his head to the droves of refugees, "even the locals don't wanna be here. They'd rather rick sleeping on the side of a freeway than stay in Gotham, not with the whole of Arkham being open. I let you in, you become Gothams responsibility. We don't want the responsibility. No one goes in." He put up his hands and stepped away from the car to emphasis his point.

Clark wiped his brow and thought over his options. He could argue that he was a reporter. Maybe try and sweet talk is way in. Hell, if he had to he could bribe him- but still, Clark had never offered or received a bribe and he didn't want to start now. It was all a slippery slope from there...

He could drive away and try and find somewhere to stash his car and become superman, but he hadn't seen anywhere on the freeway down.

"Gee, that's too bad," he replied at length. "Um, do you know of any motels nearby?"

The guard nodded and popped his gum again.

"Yep, there's a little beat-up place just off the road here. It'll take about an hour to get there. The motel is shit, but there's a Shoneys nearby and they make some great food no matter what them snobs say."

"Oh, ok, thank you." Goddamn! Another hour! Clark began to go through the motions of turning the car around and heading down the left hand to the slightly dusty looking road leading to the Motel and Shoneys. He would have to get off before then. Most of the land was dust and wilderness, there were hardly any bushes or plants he could hide his car in. He would just have to drive out far enough that the guards could not see him, abandon his car and then fly into Gotham. It wouldn't be as long as an hour but it would still be wasting time. Had Perry known about this? Was that the only reason he had relented, because he knew Clark would have no choice but to turn around anyway?

"What excuse will I have for Perry when I get back later than he expected?" Clark grimaced and wound up his window. It was hot outside but all the dust and sand was getting into his car. He'd rather deal with the heat. The road because increasingly bumpy as he went along. "Hopefully rounding up Arkham won't take too long. Though it's never good to underestimate them too much. I'll think of something on the way back." Clark thought of all the poor starving Gothamites leaving the city. "They need my help. Bruce needs my help. I better hurry."

* * *

In the deep dark bowels of Arkham, Joker and many of his Rogueish entourage hadn't bothered leaving the building. They were situated in the medical wing, a section devoted solely to the patients of C-Block and D-Block. The medical wing was at the lowest are of Arkham (minus the basements where all the heating and hot water was). It was dark and difficult to escape from. The Rogues were dragging various members of staff who were not fortunate to be dead yet to the Medical wing and laying them on beds. Joker and a few others were dressed as doctors and giggling hysterically.

The doors swung open and Baby Doll entered huffing and puffing as she dragged the unconscious and disfigured Andrew Kelley into the room. "Lookit what I gots!" She crowed joyfully, capturing every sentient villain's attention.

Joker strode over to her and looked over the victim. "Hmm, no good at all," he muttered. "He's unconscious!" He suddenly screamed at Baby Doll making her leap back reflexively. "But don't worry," he then crooned, "we'll wake him up and sort him out!" With a loud cackle, he ordered some lackeys to carry the unconscious officer to the beds. Baby Doll trailed after them, her small legs struggling to keep up with them.

In the shadows, Poison Ivy watched the display with derision in his eyes. It was Baby Doll's kill and Baby Doll's prize, why did Joker have to take over everything? "Publicity whore," she muttered under her breath. She stood her ground and managed to not look frightened when, as soon as the utterance left her lips, Joker looked up at her from across the room and grinned. _Bastard_...

"Ivy, I need your help."

She recognised the gravelly voice before she even turned to see him. "What is it, Two Face?"

"I need a partner for the next job. A female. A strong one."

"No." She turned her back to him and continued watching her fellow inmates as they worked to stop the bleeding of Kelley's leg.

"You don't know what I'm going to ask you to do."

Ivy tried not to smirk. Two Face actually sounded a little hurt. Maybe more than one woman had refused him on his offer, and rightfully so. Sisterhood was nearly gone in modern times, but not completely. Rogue women were, for the most part, warriors. And they stuck together. They understood Sisterhood.

"I'm not going to help you trap your silly wife." She heard him growl softly behind her. It did not concern her and she continued on. "She left you for good reason as far as I'm concerned. There's no benefit in this so-called job of yours. It's a petty vendetta." She granted him the privilege of a glance. "No woman in here will help you. If she does," Ivy allowed venom to colour her voice, giving it a sharp, hostile edge, "she'll have to answer to me."

As she began to stalk away, allowing a slightly exaggerated swing to her hips, she heard the irate villain shout out, "what d'you care Ivy? You don't know her or owe her nothing!"

Two Face's grammar always suffered when he succumbed to his darker side.

"It's just a matter of sisterhood," answered Ivy, before continuing her exit. Despite the questions he cried out in rage, she did not answer him anymore.

* * *

**To Be Continued.**

**Authors Note: **

**Sorry, again, for the lack of Tetch and Crane. I'm trying to set the next part of the story up, and besides, we sort of need to know what everyone else is doing. And yes it is all relevant.**

**I don't think Turners Syndrome is quite what Baby Doll has, but it was the only real-life illness that was remotely similar.**

**I found out what Shoneys was thanks to True Blood. **

**Btw, it isn't my intention to make Ivy super cool and Two Face lame. I think that Two Face (the nasty personality) is coarse and violent and angry. The otherside is sort depressed and self loathing. And my interpretation of Ivy is that she is cold and superior. So in a situation like this I could see him losing his cool and her not. That's all. **

**For anyone who is interested in my ramblings in the opening paragraph, read Ruth Bottigheimers "Grimms Bad Girls and Bold Boys: The Moral and Social Vision of the Tale" to know about how women in the original fairytales were pretty cool and pretty tough. The title of the book seems a bit dull and 'intellectual' but it's pretty interesting.**


	17. Tea Party

`At any rate I'll never go _there_ again!' said Alice as she picked her way through the wood. `It's the stupidest tea-party I ever was at in all my life!'

_( Alice's Adventures in Wonderland. Ch. 7 - A Mad Tea-Party.)_

* * *

When Kelly had woken up that morning the first thing he had seen was his wife. She was snoring softly, her face slightly smooshed against her flat, thin pillow. A shaft of sun shone through a crack between the curtains. It was as pale and weak as a moonbeam. But that piece of light lit up her face, highlighting her fair hair and pale skin. He loved her. He loved her more than anything, and though some men did not like waking to the same woman day after day, year after year, for Kelly this was his rock, his constant in a dangerous world where death lay at every shadow and poverty spread its wings all over the district.

Having her by his side meant that he kept on living, he kept on trying, because now he had someone to love. He lived everyday and went to bed every night just so he could get up by her side each morning.

It was only now, in this incredible pain, that Kelly wondered if she felt the same way… Was she only living to be by his side? Because if so, what was she going to do when she found out he was dead?

Because that's what he was. He was a dead man.

Kelly screamed out in anguish as the monsters cackled and guffawed around him. He was tied to a table. All around him the inmates of Arkham guzzled food stolen from the kitchens watching as Joker slowly murdered him. It was all just sport for them, the animals that they were.

Slowly, Joker began to pull out the man's guts, making him scream in anguish. Joker smiled sadly. He would soon die from the pain. If only humans were _stronger, _like himself. It was pathetic really. Still, they were gonna make him look real pretty for when the Bat arrived. Joker just had to rely on the others keeping the inevitable back up busy until it was dark enough for the Bat to come out. Until then, it was open season on Gotham's Finest.

Away from the happy little tea party the Rogues were celebrating, Two Face marched angrily, lost in his own thoughts. He needed someone who could use mind control. Ivy and her cursed plants were the best for this. Who else could do the job?

A lot of rogues were good at manipulation, but that wasn't good enough for what he was going to try and pull off. In fury he punched the wall. He hated jobs that were personal, and anything involving his ex wife were as personal as things could get.

Absently he wandered back towards C Block. It was almost out of habit, as if he were walking home after a drunken night out, the trip was automatic, he was heading 'home.' How sad was that? That his body recognised C Block as his home now? It was just more evidence that Harvey was gone. Harvey was dead, and had been a long time. This broken creature was Two Face. A vicious killer. A terrorist. A hitman. A mobster. A murderer. A thief. A Gotham Rogue. Just another silly, brightly coloured Rogue. This was his life now.

So why did he still think about her? About his ex-wife, he once true love?

She was Harvey's not his?

Why was the thought of her making him feel ill, the thought of losing her making him want to break down and cry? He memory of her clung to his consciousness, like an old photo, yellow with age and curled up at its sides, but somehow all the more precious because instead of being just another photo, it was now a piece of nostalgia, an idealised part of the past that you remembered with love and with longing. It somehow represented a future you could have had, a future you wanted. The memory of her and the hope her memory held out for him only served to remind him of his mistakes and to make him feel worse and angrier with himself, but still, he could not let her go.

A distant cry of Killer Croc woke him out his reverie. It had definitely been a cry and not a roar; something was wrong with Croc. He inched forward. He had no love for the reptile, but was curious as to what would bring down such a behemoth. Was his illness getting worse? He shuddered at the thought of seeing anything of Crocs putrid, rotting flesh, but pushed forward anyway.

He turned the corner and looked towards where the showers were situated.

There was an odd sight.

The door to the shower was closed. Scarecrow was peeping through the eye hole, where the guards normally kept an eye on them, and looked like he was having a very quiet orgasm. On the floor and looking as blank and vacant as a doll, was the new guy. Is legs were stretched out and far apart, his head was tipped lightly to the side, resting ever so slightly on his shoulder. Blood and unnamed gore was smattered all over his small, slim body. Dark red dried blood contrasted in his pale blond hair. His blue eyes were void of all thought and emotion as they stared down at the floor. He looked like a misused toy, a china doll irrevocably broken.

Two Face frowned, who exactly was this person?

He had been mentioned in the papers a few weeks back. But those articles had been more concerned with the fact that he had been an employee of Wayne Enterprises.

Something compelled Two Face to find out more about this man; it was unusual that someone like scarecrow was risking his reputation by hanging around a weak person and this man's little freak out in the kitchens started off the breakout. Maybe there was more to him than previously thought. Only one way to find out...

* * *

Inside his mind, the landscape had turned very dark. The azalea skies were now obsidian black. Everything had been plunged into darkness. Strange orange lights reflected off the silky black waters, but Tetch did not know what their origins were. Looking into the waters he saw the outside real world. He saw Two Face walking up to, and then sitting down beside him. It was ok, from where he sat he felt safe. Deep inside this place, even in the darkness he was safe from the Outside.

* * *

"Hey there kid. What's your name?"

As if some batteries had been put into him, the blond man suddenly sat a little straighter, lifted his head and looked at him. There was a moments silence before, "your hair wants cutting."

Two Face sighed. God here was another comedian. He repeated the question, but he just got a dumb look in response. He gave up.

"Fine, well, what you in for?" He thought for a moment. "Something to do with a dame wasn't it? You hurt her or something like that."

"Not I!"' he replied offended. "We quarrelled last March-just before _he_ went mad, you know-' (he lazily motioned towards Scarecrow, who was whispering quietly to himself, his eyes shut tight, and shuddering whenever Croc whimpered,) `-it was at the great concert given by the Queen of Hearts..."

"The who of what?"

"...And I had to sing:-

'Twinkle, twinkle, little bat!

How I wonder what you're at!'

You know the song, perhaps?"

"I've heard something like it," said Two Face dryly, just about recognising the tune, he was hardly following the conversation.

"It goes on, you know," the Hatter continued as if the whole thing were very interesting. Yet, it was still fake, it sounded like he were acting, like an alien pretending to be human. It was disturbing. "In this way:-

"Up above the world you fly,

Like a tea-tray in the sky.

Twinkle, twinkle-'

Well, I'd hardly finished the first verse when the Queen jumped up and bawled out, "He's murdering the time! Off with his head! And ever since that," the Hatter went on in a mournful tone, "she won't do a thing I ask! It's always six o'clock now."

There was a heavy silence. Two Face had drawn the conclusion that the man he was talking to was not trying to be a comedian, but genuinely insane. Well, that didn't matter; most people he knew nowadays were insane. But if this man was any use, any use whatsoever, it was worth getting his hands on him before anyone else.

"Uh huh... you worked for Wayne Enterprises huh? What did you do? A technician, a scientist? God please say you were something useful." He shook the man, "come on, and say something that makes some sort of sense!"

He let go in shock as the hazy look vanished from the blond mans eyes. Sharp, clear and very human, Tetch looked up at him; he seemed to be talking from a faraway place, his voice slightly faint. "I was a neurologist for Wayne Enterprises. I was...controlling the rats...making them have tea parties...it was always six o clock," he looked inexplicably sad for some reason, "always six o clock...always...never joined the dance..."

"How did you make the rats have a tea party? How did you make them?"

"The mind is the weakest part of a person." Tetch smiled faintly, "I discovered a way to control people without digging into their minds or hypnotising them. I just slid it behind the ear. _Slip, slip_." He mimicked putting something behind Two Face's ear.

Two Face wetted his lips and nodded. "Then I need you to come with me little man."

Without alerting Scarecrow, who was still lost in his own head, Two Face lifted up Tetch and carried him away.

* * *

Less than one third of Gothams Police Force met at the allocated place in Arkham. "We can't go into C Block with these numbers!" One of the men cried. He was already hysterical, three of his friends had been dragged away at different times by violent lunatics hiding in the shadows.

Outside Jerry and Gordon listened to the grim news, "there are only around fifteen of us left," the sergeant was saying over the radio from inside Arkham. "Most of our best and most able are gone. Four of us are badly injured."

Gerry put his hand over his face but Gordon spoke eagerly down the radio, "have hope yet boys," Gerry looked at him incredulously, but Gordon grinned, "Superman has just arrived."

A blue and red streak flew directly into one of the upper windows of Arkham.

If it had been Metropolis, people would have cheered. Gothamites were too beaten to celebrate and to hope too much, but as Superman lighted the sky for a few seconds, all of the people outside found it in themselves to stand a little straighter and to hope just a little bit...just a little bit.

* * *

**AN. My genuine shame faced apologies for how long it's been (Jesus, will I even have any readers left?) I just really, really struggled to write this. I don't know why it's been so hard, but this chapter was so difficult. I did loads of different versions. One all about Scarecrow, one all about Superman and Leland. God, I just went to so many different people. Finally, I settled on this. I'm trying to move the story into a storyline I have had planned from the start...but it's been surprisingly tough. I'll leave you all with dreams of Scarecrow grinding himself against a metal door, whispering dirty nothings while getting turned on by a suffering Killer Croc. I hope this makes up for my lateness.**

**Merry Jesus Weekend.**

**xxx**


	18. Deal with the Devil

**AN- Not yet beta'd. Thou hast been warned.**

* * *

In his dream world, Jervis crawled up to the edge of the vast lake. The grass was still wet and heavy, like paint. Overhead a shot of lightening whipped through the black clouds, followed by the angry grumble of thunder.

Things were not well.

Looking into the strange, dark water he saw not his own image but that of Alice, the sister he had all but forgotten for so many years.

"Why are you in there?" He asked. "Are you hiding from the Jabberwock?" He remembered seeing a blonde child hiding in the attic as the Cheshire Cat grinned and the Jabberwock had sniffed around for food. "This is a good place to hide Alice, good girl."

"You're not safe here" it whispered, ignoring his praises.

"Not safe?"

"No, you must go back. You need to wake up now."

"No, no," Jervis was suddenly filled with dread. "No, this is just a trick. You're so spiteful!" he hissed with sudden anger, "you always were!"

"Oh Jervis, if I wasn't surrounded by water you would see my tears, I would never trick you." Her voice was almost sickeningly sweet. Jervis felt unpleasant feelings pooling in his stomach.

"I hate you," he whispered vehemently, "I can't remember why but I know that I do. And I do know that it was something to do with being loved; you were and I was not."

The reflection of Alice simply smiled. Despite his distaste of her, Jervis decided that perhaps she was right. There was somewhere else he was meant to be. Besides, this place no longer seemed nice. It was dark, and melting, and uncertain, there was a Jabberwocky in the house and the skies were black.

Perhaps it was time to go back.

* * *

"Superman has indeed been sighted travelling towards Arkham Asylum," newsreader Summer Gleeson announced on Leland's television. "Hopefully the asylum break out will be soon resolved. Here to discuss the turn of events are social commentator and avid Batman supporter Brad Jones, and local politician and author of 'Why Batman is not great' Toby Bithins. Welcome Sir's."

Leland turned away from the news on the motels tiny television set and turned back to her laptop. She was checking through Tetch's history again. Or what little they had been given on it. Before coming to America he had references praising him from the University of Cambridge where he had excelled in neurochemistry and biomechanics. After securing a doctorate he had come to America and immediately began working with Wayne Enterprises.

There was nothing on his personality. Leland had received letters from Tetch's line manager. Under the advice of Alice's psychiatrist, they had decided to leave her alone. Unsurprisingly the girl was completely traumatised. Instead Arkham doctors had used her statements about Tetch that were used at the trial.

By looking at both comments, Leland could see that Tetch had come across as polite bordering on docile, a little silly and eccentric, rather hopeless but harmless all round.

How had such a man gone on to become so dangerous and reckless that within one night he threw away his career, committed attempted murder, kidnap and fraud? Then there was the fact that he had the sheer audacity to fight _back_ against the Batman. No one changed that quickly. It was almost as if he became a different person.

The Joker had often told her, in their rare sessions, that it only took one bad day for someone to be sent completely insane. Leland completely disagreed and nothing the clever madman had ever said to her had convinced her of otherwise.

No one went insane because of a single bad day. These things built up over time and then exploded. The key to an emotional cure always lay in the beginning, the root cure, of the madness.

And Tetch's was almost certainly connected to his childhood. The fact that he was obsessed by a children's book, his silly, docile behaviour, the faux naiveté, it all pointed to some sort of childhood trauma. For whatever reason, Tetch was refusing to grow up. His becoming the Mad Hatter was essentially a childish tantrum. Tetch did not like being refused, he did not like feeling unworthy.

Was his attraction to Alice Pleasant sexual, or something else? Because that would shed a lot of light on why he did what he did.

Had his parents treated him as if he were lesser, as if he were unworthy? Was that why he was unable to handle rejection in an adult manner? Or was he spoiled to the point of insanity and so unable to grasp the concept of not getting exactly what he wanted?

Leland understood that in order to understand what the Mad Hatter was, she would need to know who Jervis Tetch was.

* * *

Slowly Jervis opened his eyes. The feeling of danger was easing away from him and he felt like a snail emerging from its shell- cautiously and slowly peering out into the sunlight. He was in a car. The window was down and he was lying stretched out on his back_. "I must be in the back seat."_ He thought.

Gingerly he sat up. The window was open but it was still stiflingly hot. The roads were all but empty and he momentarily wondered where everyone was.

"Ah, you're awake."

He looked at the driver and saw a handsome face. It was one he dimly recognised.

"Erm, do I know you?"

The driver turned and faced him fully.

Jervis recoiled back into his chair without thinking.

"Yeah, you might've seen me on the news," rasped his driver, "I'm Harvey Two Face, pleased to make your acquaintance." He turned back to the wheel while Jervis shivered involuntarily. The formal politeness did not match his rasping voice or heavy gangster accent. "You Sir, are going to help me. In turn, I'll give you your freedom. Deal?"

"We-we are out of Arkham?"

"Of course," Two face's strong Gotham dialect was disdainful. "You should be proud, aside from Joker no one has escaped Arkham after being in C block for less than twenty-four hours."

"But, well, I was unconscious for most of it. How did you get me out?"

"It wasn't hard." He spat out the window. Again, the callousness seemed at odds with the polite language and carefully ironed suit. "You're easy to carry and the cops are understaffed and staring at the sky. They want Superman to save 'em." He added when Jervis looked at him in confusion. "Anyways, who cares that you were unconscious?" Two Face continued, "the point is you did it. Besides, you could just lie. Most of 'em do anyways. Keep on like this and you'll be a legend kid. You'll be a Rogue. Just like the rest of us..."

Jervis gulped. Was this really what he wanted? Well, maybe if he helped Two Face, he could then go into hiding maybe go to a different country, start fresh. Forget everything that happened here...

"Ok," he sighed, sitting up and moving towards Two Face. "What is it you need me to do?"

"I need you to make something for me."

"A mind control device?"

"Sort of. I need something that can control her surroundings. I want her to be happy. Happy and at peace. Forever."

Jervis sat still and thought for a moment. He did not question why Two Face's voice had suddenly gotten so soft and so human. He did not think to question the rights of this 'her' and what Two Faces wanted to do to her.

"Something like a virtual world?" Jervis asked, "I could probably make a programme that could put someone in a perfect world. In fact I already have the plans for one made up, but I haven't started it as I wasn't sure how to pitch it to my employers." He paused before cautiously adding, "it will take a lot of money and resources."

"Don't worry about that?" Interrupted Two Face. "As long as you make it, that's all I care about."

Jervis grinned. His day had just improved a vast amount.

* * *

At the same time as Jervis, Jonathan himself opened his eyes and looked down. His crotch was damp. Oh great. His experience was ruined. He hated it when this happened. He let out an angry sigh. Feeding on someone else's fear wasn't _supposed_ to be sexual. That was just...base and animalistic. No, what he felt was higher than that; it was Nirvana, spiritual and pure. But his human side kept ruining it.

He looked around, expecting to see his little blonde marionette sitting waiting for him.

"Tetch?" He barked. "Tetch? Where are you?"

Slowly, Jonathan made his way down the corridors searching for his lost lamb, growing increasingly worried and angry with each step.

He cocked his head to one side. Loud cheers and whooping and laughing could be heard outside. The Rogues were excited, something was happening. Slowly he made his way towards them.


	19. The Fall of a God

Johnny edged his way into the main hall to where all the noise was coming from. It looked like a black coliseum with an audience of freaks and lunatics jeering and braying like asses. To the side of the hall stood the Man of Steel himself; his face was set in a grimace as he focused on the Joker who himself was sat on what looked like a throne while cackling inanely. Below the Clown Prince were the mangled body parts of various doctors, policemen and other patients. He was like a demonic pagan god of the underworld. For reasons unknown to Johnny the Joker was wearing a doctor's shirt, but it was so bloodied it looked more like a butcher's.

The smell of death and blood permeated the atmosphere. It was suffocating. Johnny revelled in it for a short time before opening his eyes and continuing to watch the display before him.

"So pleased you chose to join us today Superman," hissed the Joker in his unnaturally high pitched tone. It was grating when he used that voice, it was patronising and fake like when an adult talks down to a child. "It being the daytime means our own dear Dark Knight isn't up yet," the Clown continued, grinning down at his cohorts. They chuckled obediently at the mockery of Batman's somewhat childish and very human short comings.

However, Superman was not like Batman and he was not prepared to be silent while the Joker ranted away with his usual nonsense. "This ends now," he announced with all the gusto of a comic book hero. His self assurance and positivity was an anathema to the villains- Superman most certainly did not belong to the dark, cynical and morose world of Gotham. However, Johnny figured that the Hero had a right to be confident. He was practically a god compared to all the villains in this dirty little part of Hell.

The Joker stood up and not for the first time Johnny was ashamed to admit to himself that he was intimidated by the sheer height of the Clown Prince. Despite his skinny body, there was something implicitly terrifying about Joker; the rictus grin and the pale, almost blue skin accompanied by the long nails and evil laugh made him appear as dangerous and strange as he actually was.

Joker shrugged, his every movement having the elegance of a catwalk model, "I think not Superman," he replied reasonably. "I'm afraid that, while you took your sweet time getting here, I've been doing some logical thinking." Joker put emphasis on odd words and was highly animated with his hand gestures in a cartoonish manner, all of which made his speech difficult to follow. Joker required concentration just to be listened to, therefore everyone was focused fully on him, even Superman, which was just how the evil man liked it.

Losing patience Superman flew towards him.

The Joker grinned.

It was a carnal gesture, full of pure malice and evil and in that one second Johnny realised that Superman had made a major error.

He had not noticed Harley

Tetch was driven out to the docklands, where he was taken into a small beaten down warehouse; evidently Two-Face's hideout. Two Face went up stairs to the offices without explanation, but Tetch was herded to a where a group of large hulking thugs sat playing cards, a cheap black and white tele playing the background.

"This guy is with us," announced the gangster who had been the driver and herder of Tetch. In response Tetch smiled softly uncertain about Gangster pleasantries.

"Small guy ain't ya?" started one man whose head was far too small for his body. Tetch wondered if he had been taken some sort of growth hormone and muscle stimulant.

"Yes, I am small," he pulled up a chair and sat at the table with them. "But I am quite clever."

"Is dat why you have such a big 'ead?" The slow behemoth asked dumbly. Tetch stiffened slightly but sensed no spitefulness in what the big man had said, he was like a child in that he spoke the truth without thinking.

Tetch smiled slightly, "yes, I suppose. A big head for a big brain, but not a big body."

"You should-a played out more as a kid. Dat's all I ever did." He looked back at his cards before adding reluctantly, "I didn't pay too much at-ten-shun at school. I don't fink my teacher liked me much. I don't blame 'er."

Tetch felt himself softening, he liked the man, after being in a workplace full of intelligent but arrogant liars he was relieved to be talking to someone without artifice, "don't worry, we can't be good at everything. What's your name?"

"Bob, but dey all call me Bobo." Bobo began to point to the others around the table, who had been paying little attention to their conversation, "dis is Sam, dis is Rattlesnake, dis is Scar, cuz of de big scar on his nose and dat guy," he gestured to the man who had driven Tetch down, "is Wheels."

"Well, I'm Jervis Tetch. Pleased to meet you all."

Aside from Bobo they all scoffed a little at his greeting, but they played on in relative companionable silence until the news caught their notice.

"Good Afternoon, Summer Gleeson here," announced the red-head reporter, "It has been approximately fifteen minutes since the Superman entered Arkham Asylum. We don't know what has happened to him. A source says that all radio communication with Officers inside Arkham has broken down completely. The Police have not sent anyone else inside since Superman. Has the unspeakable happened? Has Superman been beaten by Gotham's lunatics?"

The gangsters all cheered, guffawed and high fived one another. Tetch was horrified. "But Superman is good," he squeaked looking at them, "surely he is better than Batman?"

The Gangsters shook their heads. "Trust us," sneered Scar, "they're all as bad as one another! They wanna keep us all down. I would bet a million dollars that all these so called superheroes are rich folk with too much time on their hands and a vendetta." He motioned to the men around him, "we're just trying to get by, you see. How hard is it to get a job in this town? How is someone like him," he gestured to Bobo, "meant to work? The only thing they have for us is factory work earning peanuts, not enough to buy a place to live or even to eat from week to week. And they all look down on us too."

To the side, Sam hawked and spat on the ground, a non verbal description of how he felt about the Superheroes.

"No, that Superman gets all that he deserves," Scar finished, "him and all the supes, I hope they get their guts cut out of them and fed to dogs. They wouldn't be so high and mighty then!"

As soon as superman had flown forwards, Joker had grinned and glanced at Harley. His ever faithful pet pulled a lever instantly wiring all the electric to the one entrance. It was something the architects of Arkham had created back in the early twentieth century, a failsafe to electrocute any prisoners who got out. It hadn't worked in a number of years after it had been closed down because its use was considered a breach of human rights. However, in the few hours of that morning, it wasn't too difficult for the Rogues to figure it out. Joker had made sure that they had made it to wire all the electric to the one area, including the emergency electric.

It was quite a show; Superman had suddenly been stopped midflight as a shocking bright white and lightening blue flew around his body. Those who were too close to the door were thrown backwards and killed instantly, their mouths open in shock, eyeballs exploded and every hair on end.

Joker and the others knew the shock would not be anywhere near enough to kill Superman, but it would be enough to temporarily stop him.

The electric burnt out and Superman fell to the floor with a heavy thump. The entire building fell into a deep darkness and the smell of burning flesh and hair replaced the previous stench of blood and sweat. The Rogues cheered and laughed.

"Candles," called Jokers high pitch above the gaiety, "quick light the candles!"

Johnny could hear the grin in the clown's voice. Dim little fires were set about the vast darkness. It made the place even more eerie, the face of lunatics, madmen and, worst of all, evildoers lit up in a dull hue.

It looked like the innermost circle of Hell.

"_Scarecrow_," a voice slithered into his ear and Johnny was ashamed that he actually jumped. Turning behind him he saw the Joker was grinning and staring at him with those very green, very human eyes. It was highly disconcerting. Scarecrow was silent waiting for Joker to speak; this seemed to please the Clown who, after staring at Scarecrow for a good three minutes finally spoke, "How are ya Johnny boy?"

Scarecrow narrowed his eyes behind the flaxen mask. He was not Jonathan Crane. He was his own entity. Had Joker not just called him? Why was he referring back to Jonathan, as if he and the weak academic were one in the same?

Joker's grin widened impossibly. It looked like it was ripping his face in two, "I think you should try out your serum on old Super-pants right now, don't you?" He giggled like an insane school girl making Johnny swallow back some bile. "It's the only chance you'll get."

Scarecrow knew the madman was right. Nodding, he skipped nimbly down the stairs, hopped over the dead, charred bodies of the other prisoners and knelt beside Superman.

He looked over his body, Superman was a fascinating specimen. He was so muscular that he looked more like an ancient Grecian god than a man. Scarecrow's hands ghosted over him, feeling the abnormally high heat, before getting out his equipment.

"Naughty Jonny," Joker was behind him and speaking in his ear again, "I won't let anyone know you was thinking of touching him up," Joker sniggered beside him and Scarecrow resisted the urge to rub his defiled ear. He began to concentrate on measuring out Superman's serum. Batman needed far more than the average human, but even he was just a man. Superman would need perhaps up to twice of what Batman had. Who knows, maybe more? Then also there was the issue of Superman's high body temperature; was he naturally that hot, or was it the electric shock only temporarily affecting him? The heat would undoubtedly affect the serum, which had been designed to survive a normal human body. Playing it safe, Scarecrow doubled the serum. Joker wouldn't like it if Superman died.

He shuddered slightly. Joker was lightly touching his spine with those long somewhat effeminate fingernails. He could feel Joker's long lithe form crouching over his own. Though Scarecrow was tall, Joker was much taller. He could feel Joker's breaths on his neck.

Scarecrow frowned. This was so like the Clown Prince, he always tried to distract people when they were working only to make fun of or berate them when they didn't do their job properly! Well, Scarecrow wouldn't fall for it.

Concentrating heavily he correctly measured out the bright green serum and pushed it into a vein of Superman's arm. Almost instantly Superman hissed and his normally handsome features contorted like someone having a bad dream.

Scarecrow grinned.

"You like that don't you?" Joker whispered, toying with some of Jonathans' orange hair under the mask.

Scarecrow nodded.

"Good, because it's only going to get better."

"It has now been twenty minutes since anyone has seen or heard from Superman." Summer looked tired and defeated. She was an excellent representative of the Gotham people. "More sightings have been made of various criminals scurrying away from Arkham, like rats running out of a burning building. The police are at a loss. We are all at a loss. Board up your homes, bring your children inside, turn off lights at night and keep everything locked up until further notice.

"Once again, Gotham has bowed to the will of the Rogues."

* * *

**AN- Sorry it takes me so long to update. I work full time so it's sometimes hard to get things out quickly. This isn't a slash fic all of a sudden. I just like Joker being creepy. Lol.**


	20. Television

**A.N I understand that this chapter was weak, so I've improved on it. Please let me know if you think it needs to be improved more or added to.**

* * *

"_Need to feel safe in your own home?"cried out the nasally narrator._

_An elderly couple nodded at the camera._

"_Need to feel like your family is safe after you close that door?"_

_A wide eyed family clutching each other nodded._

"_**Well, now you can!"**__ The narrator cried, a split screen showing the elderly couple and the family nodding and grinning._

"_Come down to __**Joe's Department Store**__ today for speciality security equipment! We have __**state of the art**__Surface Mounted Window Restrictors which will prevent anyone getting in or out of your home! No rogue will be able to steal away your children with this device!_

_**But wait; there's more! **_

_We have dead bolts, key in knob locks, vertical dead bolts, chain locks, keyless locks and sliding bar locks, all of the highest quality material you can find!_

_Come down or order online and feel safe, __**even in a place like Gotham!"**_

"_..Alllocksarenonrefundable."_

* * *

Louise picked up Mary Anne and set her down in her pushchair; the little girl just kept getting in their way.

"Mama," asked nine year old Leanne, "how will papa get back in the house when we've done all this?"

Louise looked up at her children. Her two oldest boys were blocking up the windows with black paper, Leanne and Josie were working on bordering up the door with cheap plywood. Earlier that day, Louise and her oldest boys had survived the mad dash to the supermarkets without sustaining any serious injury amongst the panicked masses and had stocked up on food. It was bad enough when one Rogue escaped but when Arkham had a mass break out, it was best to lay low in the house until it was all over; or at least until most of the Rogues had been collected by Batman. In Gotham it was never really 'all over.' Schools would be closed for a number of days, though emergency services and some brave shop keepers would still keep running regardless.

"Papa will be fine," she answered with a surety she did not feel, "he will stay with the cops. They sleep at the station and help fight during the day when Mr Batman isn't around. You know that honey."

Finishing up the girls and their mother sat on the settee to continue watching a weary Summer Gleeson reporting on the depressing police non-activity at Arkham.

"They run circles around us," complained John, one of her boys, as he and Bill finished with the windows and settled down on the floor, just at the feet of the women. "It ain't fair how they get to call all the shots in this town."

Leanne leaned down and ruffled his hair, "I know, the Rogues are bullies and they get their own way far too often, that's why people like your papa fight." She smiled softly and looked at a picture frame on the coffee table. In the frame was a picture of her lover, Kelly. He was good man and someone she hoped to marry soon. She had let her fears control her, and sometimes it took something like this to happen to put everything in perspective. Maybe Kelly could even leave his job and try something else? God knows he had served Gotham well. He wasn't famous like Batman or Gordon, but he was a hero. He was the common foot soldier, the man who got all the boring, nitty gritty stuff done, the kind of guy whose life was always on the line because he wasn't special or superhuman. Gotham couldn't be cured, so maybe he could finally stop trying to heal it.

Her mind made up, she snuggled down with her children watching the television anxiously. She did not notice that the oicture of Kelly that she had just replaced on the coffee table had inexplicably cracked.

* * *

"_We are hearing reports," Summer was saying, "that outside of Gotham on the way to Metropolis it is extremely hot. Therefore anyone thinking of running away please be prepared for immense heat. Also, like last time, we advise you do not leave the city unless you have a place to stay! This is imperative! Often the Rogues leave Gotham or roam the outskirts, Greater Gotham and the county lines are not automatically safer than the city."_

"_Up next, we're showing once again the short educational film, 'Gotham! How to survive an Arkham Break out.' Please pay attention and make notes if need be. Your life depends on it."_

_Fade to black_

_Fade out of black_

_(5)_

_(4)_

_(3)_

_(2)_

_(1)_

_**GOTHAM!**_

_HOW TO SURVIVE AN ARKHAM BREAKOUT!_

"_Hello folks. This is an important Educational Film to help you survive should Arkham Asylum, an unfortunate landmark for Gotham city, ever have a major break out._

_Meet the Smiths;" _

_A blonde wife and two blonde children, and a brunet male are all packing their bags._

"_See them packing? This is because they know that the best thing to do when Arkham security is breached is to leave town. They're going to stay with Mother Smith's sister in Metropolis."_

_Mother Smith looks at the camera and gives a strained grin before returning to work._

"_See how everyone is helping? Packing is normally a wife's job when the family is going on vacation. But this isn't a vacation, so Father takes pride in joining in with the packing of clothes and goods. Don't forget the gun dad!"_

_Father Smith takes out a hand gun, shows it to the camera, then put's it into an ankle holster._

"_A simple handgun will do in this sort of situation. Remember, shot guns are for yokels. Notice how the children are also helping out the folks? They are not playing or being silly. No they are getting involved. When Arkham breaks open, it would not be a good idea to allow your children to play outside. If you do something like this may happen:"_

_A little girl plays in a garden when suddenly a clown figure leaps over the fence, covers her mouth and runs off screen with her. Then there is a picture of an explosion._

"_Villains and mad men are dangerous." The voice warned with patronising certainty._

"_Now then what of the family who have no outside relations?"_

_The Smith family are seen again, but with no bags this time. They all look at each other in mock shock and bewilderment._

"_You will need to black out the windows and doors. Madmen are attracted to lights and flashing things. Don't worry Mother Smith," Mother Smith was weeping about damage to the curtains as planks of wood were tapped over the window, "Father Smith will get you some brand new curtains when this is all done."_

_She grins at the camera._

"_There's a good girl!"_

_The camera shows eons of tinned food in cupboards._

"_We suggest that you bulk up on tinned food. This should be done before a break out, remember; FOREWARNING means you have no excuse to be UNPREPARED!_

"_You can buy a range of delicious and healthy meals, all within tins!"_

_Mother Smith places a plate of indescribably slop in front of her child. The child does not look impressed even though it's supposed to be acting._

"_UMMMM, looks good mom!"_

_The family all grin at the camera. No one eats._

"_Finally, worried about being bored during the time you will be remaining in doors?"_

_The children nod._

"_Well don't be! You can do wholesome family things such as:_

"_Reading the Bible together"_

_The family, curled up on the settee read the bible and laugh intermittently._

"_Play beard games."_

_Everyone is playing a board game looking extremely bored and straight faced._

"_And best of all, watching television!"_

_The family on the settee stare straight into the camera lens._

"_Good bye everyone! Good bye America!"_

_Everyone waves._

_fade to black_

_Cut to Summer Gleeson_

"_Well," Summer began, "I'm sure you all found that most helpful."_

* * *

Elsewhere, Leland watched Summer also. Unlike Louise, she was only half paying attention to Summer. She was worried about Tetch; deeply so in fact. The whole situation was out of the ordinary and disconcerting, and she wasn't sure how much of it was due to the new inmate.

"_Was it just a coincidence that this happened just as he arrived_?" She frowned and focused in on the television screen, "_the rogues usually rebel late at night, not in during the mid morning. This behaviour is relatively unprecedented. But why would they be this way just because of Tetch? Prisoners are often sent to C-Block. Usually they are killed within the first few days, or they adjust to Rogue behaviour permanently. Is it possible that...Tetch began the breakout?"_

She thought back to the blond, unassuming man. Tetch was not intimidating in any way, nor was he particularly devious. If anything he appeared to be almost childlike in his naivety and a little stupid (though not academically so.) It seemed out of character that he would start a break out. But Leland knew not to judge by appearances, the likes of Wesker taught her that.

Would the Mad Hatter have started the break out? He was more vicious and calculating that Tetch. "_But how clever is he?" _She pondered, "_I always had the impression that Hatter was a ghost of an alter ego. He didn't seem to have a strong personality of his own; Tetch was definitely the 'real one' out of the two."_

Had just a single night been enough to strengthen the Hatter that he would now be able to act out and initiate large changes to his environment on his own?

"I need to investigate this more and I need to do so quickly if I want to have any chance of helping Tetch through his mental breakdown." She said out loud whilst packing up all her reports on him into her briefcase, "I can't speak to Tetch and none his colleagues knew anything about him. All information prior to his university is currently unavailable because no one knows where he came from. Is he even really English, or is that another trait he has forced onto his personality? So I need to see his belongings, I need to see where he worked, where he lived and to know his background."

She gulped and looked out her window. Would she dare to return to Gotham that day?

* * *

"_Hello and welcome to a special addition of Question Hour, with me Mike Engel. Today I'm joined by Mayor Hill and opposing politician in the up-coming election, Joseph Brittle. Hello gentlemen and welcome to the show."_

_Both men vaguely responded._

"_So first to Mayor Hill, how do you rate the actions of the police today and how do the Gotham people feel safe at such a time?"_

"_As usual the Police have acted with complete incompetence. I know that Commissioner Gordon is unhappy with some of the criticisms I have made of him in the past, but the inactivity of the police and their refusal to talk to the media is quite frankly petulant."_

"_I'm sorry I have to interrupt," charged in Mr. Brittle, "we all know that the Gotham Police Force have the most difficult, most dangerous job in Gotham bar the Guards at Arkham. I think they have better things to do with their time than make public appearances on the camera. Maybe if government funding to the police hadn't been slashed, the police would have more communication tools and would therefore be more able to keep up with what was happing inside Arkham right now!"_

"_Which is why you pledge to increase the Police budget should you become Mayor?" responded Mike Engel._

"_That's right-"_

"_Hah!" Cried Mayor Hill, "it's all well and good to say you'll throw money at the police force. We did that before and what help did that do? Let's face it, ever since a vigilante in his ridiculous outfit began to brutalise the streets, the police have become lazy and nonchalant. This is the first time in years that there has been an outbreak in the day and Commissioner Gordon is killing time until it gets dark enough for bat man" he drawled the name with utter contempt, "to crawl out of his hole and bother doing anything!"_

* * *

Tetch had been led up to the dark offices where Two Face sat in silence.

"You," he said at length, making Tetch stiffen, "you know what it feels like, don't you, to be betrayed by the woman you love? To have her seduced by some...some piece of scum that doesn't deserve her?" Two Face's voice shook with rage.

Tetch felt his hands tighten to the degree that is nails bit into his palms. Pain was quickly becoming a sensation he always felt. He barely winced as his palms began to bleed. He remembered how he had listened to Alice's plaintive weeping every time Bill broke her heart. He remembered how he had been the one to listen to her, how he had been the one to care about her and how he had been the one who had tried to change for her. Bill had never done any of those things; yet he had won. "I know," he responded tension in his voice, "I know just what that feels like." He looked up at Harvey. Sure, one side of him was all messed up, but Tetch knew enough to know the man had been very handsome beforehand.

"May I ask...did she leave you after or before your unfortunate accident?"

Harvey gaped, "Ufornate accident?" He let out a ghost of a breathy laugh (almost like he had forgotten how to laugh properly) and Tetch relaxed, fearing he had said the wrong thing and was about to unleash Two Face. "She left me afterwards," he began, Tetch resisted rolling his eyes, there was surprise, women were so shallow... "But we were having problems before then. I want her to be happy Tetch. I look at her now and I know she's not. She definitely can't be with that...that monster she's with now."

Tetch watched the broken man closely. He was like a Shakespearean tragic hero; he was like Othello; his rage and anger had isolated him from the woman he loved to the point where he could have killed her. But he hadn't. Tetch thought of his old life, the one where he was nothing but a doormat, the butt of everyone's joke.

"_Well not anymore,"_ he thought, _"old Tetch can just go die already. I have nothing left, if I can help this man, maybe I can begin to carve out a new life for myself with these people. They're not so bad...not much worse than the people at work. Besides this is a lot better than going back to Arkham which, right now, is my only alternative to this."_

"Mr Dent," he said at length. Harvey glanced up at him as though he had totally forgotten Tetch was there. "I will do whatever it takes to help you. Making the device we discussed in the car will not be hard for me, but it will take a long time to make from scratch. There's a demo version at my old workplace, it'll cut down the creating side by more than half."

"Then as soon as evening comes, that's where we're going." Two Face turned away from the short man, losing interest, "for now go stay with the boys. Their idiots but a good bunch, you'll be ok with 'em."

Tetch nodded and left the office wondering about the type of person he was very quickly becoming. Why had he agreed so readily to help Two Face? And wasn't this kidnap? He hadn't asked to leave Arkham.

"_I don't care,"_ he thought, _"I hated it in there. I never want to go back. How was such a place supposed to help me get better? In fact I don't think there is anything wrong with me. They just don't like me because I'm different. I'm short, and ugly and weird. So people hate me and mock me and resent me on sight."_ He scowled, _"Batman is no better than the thugs at school. I hate him more than I hate that lizard Bill right now, or even treacherous, ungrateful Alice. I want to help Two Face because I understand him. I understand that pain."_ He thought about his invention. _"And maybe...maybe I can use it not only to get rid of two Face's pain, but help alleviate some of mine as well..."_

* * *

**A.N. Don't forget, Tetch really isn't that nice a guy. He said, twice in the series, that he would rather Alice dead than be with another man.**

**Harvey Dent is very tragic, don't you think?**


	21. Lies

**Last time**- Gotham is on red-alert as the prisoners take over Arkham, killing off riot police within their walls and torturing staff members who didn't get away quickly enough. All of this is overseen by the Joker.

Working together, the Mad Hatter and Scarecrow managed to defeat an enraged and quite insane Killer Croc by tricking him into the bathroom and then gassing him with Fear gas. The Mad Hatter and Scarecrow seem to be able to communicate, despite only being able to recite poems or Alice quotes at one another.

Later, Two-Face, distressed about something to do with his ex-wife, is unable to convince others to help him, as they think he is being overly sentimental and making things too personal, so he kidnaps the Mad Hatter when Scarecrow is not paying attention. The Mad Hatter changes back in Tetch, who had been trapped in a psychedelic world, just in time for Two-Face to explain that he needs Tetch's skills and one of his old inventions. Tetch agrees to stay with Two Face, feeling a sense of belonging within the thugs and admiring Two-Face's difficulty with the one he loves.

Leland had run out of Gotham and is staying motel, thinking about Tetch. She realises that, prior to his doctorate, little is known about his origins. She notices how this break out is unique in that it happened in the day, and wonders if Tetch instigated it. She decides to research further into his past, and even wonders if she'll return to Gotham during the emergency.

* * *

Sitting back downstairs with Bobo, Wheels, Sam, Scar and Rattlesnake, Tetch and the men gaped as the news suddenly switched off and the room suddenly turned black.

"What the hell?" cried Rattlesnake. "What happened to all the power?"

"It's Batman!" shrieked one of the men hysterically; Tetch thought it might have been Sam or Scar. "He always cuts the power before he comes!"

"It's daytime, idiot," snapped Rattlesnake. "That freak don't come out till it's dark."

"What's going on?" Two-Face's harsh voice bit through the darkness, making Tetch jump.

"The power's gone, boss," Bobo called.

"There's an emergency power supply," Two-Face muttered, his voice trailing off, though Tetch could just hear a few curses.

There was silence before the lights suddenly came back on, though they were dimmer than before. Two-Face, above the men on a scaffolding bridge, looked out of the only windows of the building, located at the rooftop. "It looks like the power's gone all over," he said, noticing all the electric billboards were off. "It's fine," he continued after a moment's thought, "we can still continue our plans for tonight. If anything, it'll work to our advantage." He glanced down at them briefly, his one human eye blank of emotion, the other full of insane anger. "People will panic and criminals will take advantage. It'll keep the Bat so busy he probably won't even notice."

He walked back into his office. A tension Tetch hadn't previously noticed left him and the other men.

"It must be something to do with Arkham. Freaky, random shit is always down to Arkham," announced Wheels suddenly, breaking the silence.

"Why would they cut the power?" asked Tetch.

"I dunno, they're all crazy." Wheels looked at him. "You should be able to answer, not us."

Tetch frowned slightly. "Well, I wasn't there for very long. I've only been in there one night. It was pretty awful on the whole, though Mr Two-Face has been very kind to me, helping me leave and saving me from the Monster."

"The monster?" repeated Bobo, sitting down on the run down couch and looking at Tetch. The other men had lost interest in Tetch already, and were settling back down around a table further away to play a new card game.

"Yes," Tetch answered jovially, sitting next to Bobo and deciding that he liked the slow-thinking man very much. "Yes, I remember perfectly, there was a monster coming after me; it came out of the bathroom originally. I think it lived in there. It hurt my head –" He gestured at his bandages. "– and said horrible things to me. It grinned like a Cheshire Cat and told me that I was guilty of murder and needed to have my head chopped off. The skinny, nasty man released it from the bathroom and tried to make it eat me. I think it was the skinny man's pet. The brother of the skinny man, a sensible fellow, told me that it was in the bathroom because the Sandman was going to collect it." Bobo nodded slowly, his face scrunched up in concentration as he tried to follow Tetch's story.

"It was all nonsense, of course," Tetch continued brightly. "It's daytime, so how _could_ the Sandman come? Anyway, I get crushed by the monster, it broke into lots of pieces and fell on me – it was awful. I climbed back out and it put itself together again, deciding that I should just be eaten."

"Didn't the brother of the skinny man try to help?" gasped Bobo, thinking that Arkham was even weirder and scarier than he had ever imagined.

"No, he was long gone by then, by what I remember." Tetch looked into the distance, trying to recall the events. "He was talking to someone; I think it was the door..."

"Who talks to a door?"

"Mad people, of course, and everyone in Arkham is mad. Apart from me, obviously. And your good boss, of course!" Tetch leaned forward. "So I thought I was done for, defeated, doomed to a horrible death when, suddenly, in flies Two-Face, with a sword, hacking and hacking and hacking away at the monster, until it was dead, haha, dead as a girl!"

"Where'd he get the sword from?"

"Who knows?" beamed Tetch, unconcerned with the details. "What I do know is he helped me a lot, so it's only right that I help him back. Don't you agree?"

Bobo nodded eagerly, grinning as Tetch patted his arm.

"Bobo, my good man, is there any way I could maybe get a cup of tea?"

xxXXxx

In Oxford University, England, a receptionist banged her keyboard keys. "No, madam," she said, her Oxford accent sounding sharp, "we've never had such a person here."

"No Jervis Tetch at all?" answered the American on the other line. "I don't understand... maybe it was a pseudonym or an alias... I am very sorry, ma'am, I may call back later."

"All right," sighed the receptionist. "Goodbye, Miss Leland."

Leland hung up and stared at all her paperwork for Tetch. Tetch had never gone to Oxford University. Had no one in her department actually checked his history before now, or had they all assumed, like her, that it was correct?

"This is a good forgery," she muttered, looking at his Doctorate certificate. "Even Wayne Enterprises was fooled."

She called his old school next: Eton College. According to his records, at age thirteen Tetch had been taught there up until he was eighteen.

"Hello, I am sorry to bother you. My name is Miss Leland and I am calling from Gotham, America. I am a psychiatrist working with someone who is apparently one of your ex-students, a Mr Jervis Tetch."

"Hullo madam, let me have a quick look on our files for you," responded the receptionist cheerily. "When would he have attended this school?"

After a quick calculation, Leland gave her a date.

"Thank you, madam. It must be very exciting being a psychiatrist," she continued. Leland could hear her typing as she spoke.

"Yes." She allowed herself a wry smile, glancing at her TV which was now on silent but showing the mass exodus from the city. "It can be exciting..."

"Your accent is lovely; I don't hear it too much on the telly or in films."

"Us Gothamites tend to be hidden away in America. You probably hear more accents from further up in the USA." Leland allowed a small laugh to escape her lips. "Most people think we have terrible accents. It's too harsh."

"Aha, here we go! We did have a Master Tetch. He came a year before the one you mentioned. He was only here for two terms, then he was expelled for continued misbehaviour. Shame really, his grades were very, very good."

"How old would he have been when he left?"

"Probably still only thirteen. It says on his records that he came here through a scholarship scheme."

"Really? So he was from a poor background?" Leland blanched. With his affected air and well spoken accent, she had always assumed that Tetch had been raised in a fairly middle to upper class environment. "Could you tell me the name of his parents or guardians? or the address where he lived?"

"Certainly. But I will need some proof of who you are due to the confidentiality measures we have here."

"Sure." Leland grabbed her ID and switched on her computer and printer. "I am not in my office but I can fax over a copy of my information and ID. I can also get my superior, Dr Arkham, to call on my behalf." She began to print a copy of her Arkham Asylum ID and her driving license (it was the best she could do) before sending it over on fax. "Also," she continued, "would it be possible for me to interview briefly one of Tetch's old teachers, assuming any are still working in the school?"

"There are a few who have been here a long time," answered the receptionist. "I can certainly try to arrange that. We're getting the fax now. Bear with me." There was a pause and Leland began to text Dr Arkham so that he could phone the school on her behalf. After four or five minutes, the receptionist returned.

"The details are correct so far," she said, "and Dr Arkham has just called the headmaster. Mr Tetch had a mother called Jayne Tetch and his father was a Bill Turner. They lived in a tower block on the Nightingale Estate, Clapton. That's in East London, in a borough called Hackney. The old tower blocks have been bulldozed down now. As for teachers, only one of Mr Tetch's old lecturers remain, a biology teacher called Mr Hull. I can put you through to his office now."

"Yes, please." Leland was looking through Tetch's files. His parents had been listed as 'Joanne Anthea Tetch' and 'William Fitzgerald Tetch', and as living in the Windsor area.

This was hell. All their information was inaccurate. She wrote another text to Dr Arkham. If everything in Tetch's life was a forgery, then what was real, and how much of his own lies did he believe? Plus, Dr Arkham was going to be furious. If this sort of error got out to the public, it would ruin the image of the Asylum even more than it already was, even though it really wasn't their fault.

She turned on the internet and at once Googled 'Hackney'. It wasn't a lavish British countryside home. It was a poor area, and by the looks of things had a long history of being poor, as did most of East London as well.

"Hello," greeted a deep male voice over the phone.

"Mr Hull?" asked Leland.

"Yes, you must be the psychiatrist of the boy Tetch."

"Yes."

"Well, I must say that I have been pulled out of one of my lessons for this phone call. I always knew that one day a psychiatrist or a police officer was going to call me about that child. He made quite an impression on us all."

Leland activated Office Word and prepared to start typing up notes. "Please, let me know what he did. And know that I shall be taking notes, for the sake of my patient."

"You wouldn't have assumed much about him at first," the biology teacher began. "He was small for his age, but not surprising as he had been raised in deplorable conditions and most likely not fed properly. He arrived dirty and unkempt and hungry. Whilst we are not foreign to students coming from unhappy home lives – that unfortunate situation can happen to a child of any class – we are not familiar with poverty here, and so few were prepared for how to deal with it. We were even more perturbed by the behaviour of Tetch and the students around him in the following few months.

"Tetch had few friends; being small, weak and poor the others tended to laugh and tease him. Usually he sat alone. Increasingly us staff members would spy the boy muttering or whispering to himself. The boys in his dormitory complained that he used to hum or sing at night, or stay up reading. It used to drive them to distraction. We assumed that it was quirkiness, brought on by loneliness and above-average intelligence, and so we left him to it despite the fact that it was bizarre.

"Then he began to behave strangely. He was first suspended two months into the first term for showing off his genitalia to the other boys. He didn't seem to understand what he had done wrong and cried piteously after being told off. After two weeks we allowed him to return. He was a brilliant student; he understood work very quickly and was at the very top of every one of his subjects. Soon he was even top of his year, despite being a student from a very low working class background and only having been educated in inner city comprehensives all his childhood. His potential was so high; we couldn't help but be excited, and maybe a little blinded, by it. We also didn't want to keep suspending him, and we certainly did not want to do so permanently. Therefore, we accepted a lot of his poor behaviour where we wouldn't have done with other students. This must not have helped the general feelings of ill-will against him.

"His moods began to become increasingly erratic, starting off mild and calm and then quickly spiralling into hysterical laughter or tears. He was quick to anger, but never injured anyone; he was more prone to running out of class. He was usually in detention. After returning from a half term holiday, he came to school with felt tip markings all over his ruddy arms and hands. He was practically covered. The students kept laughing at him, but he refused to wipe it off. In the end he kicked up such a ruckus that two teachers frog marched him to the boys' bathroom and scrubbed his arms clean. When we did, we saw bruises had mottled his skin." The teacher sighed wearily. "Someone, I don't know which of us, called the social workers. His mother was less than impressed. She came in one morning, ranting and raving, accusing us of looking down on her and her son. The boyfriend was even worse."

"The boyfriend?" interrupted Leland. "Was this Bill Turner?"

"Yes, I believe that was his name. He was a horrible spindly, sinewy man; a ruffian who tried to attack one of our receptionists. It was a disgrace. Luckily, the students were all kept away, but young Tetch was there, hunched into a corner as if he were trying to make himself invisible and the baby in the pram was knocked over onto the ground, so –"

"Baby?" Leland interrupted suddenly.

"Yes, she brought a child with her. So it was chaos: a terrified receptionist, a furious mother shouting obscenities, me and a few others trying to get them to leave, another receptionist calling the police and a squalling child." He took in a deep breath, and Leland could imagine him sitting down heavily as the memory, vivid and real, was re-enacted in his mind.

"We should have let him go after that," he continued more quietly after some silence. "We should have cut our losses. But he was so brilliant and we were so excited for him. We hoped that social services would place him somewhere sensible, maybe somewhere closer to the school. That he could excel and grow somewhat more normally. And at first that seemed to happen. He never went to new parents; by what I remember he went to a Children's Home."

"Do you remember what it was called?"

"No. It closed down long ago, shortly after he arrived. 'Saint' something or other."

"I see. Please continue."

"Well, Tetch seemed to make a few friends in the school. They were all the unpopular lads. They were small and reedy, and generally bullied and picked on, though we did our best to stop whatever we saw. However, we took it as a good sign, that he was learning some social skills. And he did seem to settle down. He became increasingly polite, his language greatly improved, no doubt hearing good language and manners in his new home helped. He became much quieter, and his rages seemed to stop altogether. Though..."

"Though...?"

"Though there was a lot more tension in his body. When angry he would go quiet, but he would snap his pen or pencil, grit his teeth or clutch at his hair. It was still high levels of stress there, it was just quieter. One lunch time it was announced in the staffroom that several boys had reported Tetch for having girls' underwear in his possession."

"These boys that reported him," began Leland, "were they his friends or enemies?" She was not surprised by the fact that in childhood Tetch had female underwear inexplicably in his possession; if anything, it made sense with his adult self bearing a strange relationship with women. If anything, this was more standard. Plus, he could have just been a horny little boy, he was thirteen and coming into puberty after all.

"It was some of the boys who did not get along with Tetch. But they weren't lying. I, the headmaster at that time, and one of the female teachers, searched his belongings and found them. They were knickers belonging to what must have been a young girl. He claimed they were his sister's and that she had snuck them among his items in order to get him in trouble, to make him look like a pervert, but according to our records he never had a sister!"

"What about the baby in the pram from when the mother had arrived earlier?"

"I was always led to believe that was his sister, but she was in nappies; the underwear Tetch had would have belonged to that of a young girl or teenager. It was obscene and Tetch was not unknown as a liar. Anyway, Tetch was dealt with; we called the foster home and arranged for them to pick him up because we had no choice but to suspend him. He was also told that this time it may be permanent due to the amount of times he had managed to break the rules and disturb other students.

"As I said before, he did not take criticism well. Instead of flying into a rage he wept a lot. I tried to comfort him, explaining that things would probably go in his favour, and they probably would have done. We most likely would have decided to expel him short term and then have a counselling agency brought into the school. Nowadays, of course, we have a very well equipped pastoral care unit, but we're talking twenty years ago now; we had nothing back then, people just got on with it. Well, that's what we always thought until Tetch arrived; he clearly needed help." The teacher sighed again, more deeply this time.

"Take your time," said Leland in her professional, calming tone whilst glancing at the clock. "We have as long as you need, it's all right."

"Thank you." Mr Hull sounded truly grateful. "It's just that I was very fond of Tetch. He was only with us a short while but I never forgot him. He was truly extraordinary yet very disturbed and often I feel that I did not do as nearly as much as I should have done. Now seeing the path he has gone down, I feel as if what happened at the school were the early stages of his moral and mental erosion, and that had we done more, had we been more vigilant, we may have put in place things that could have stopped him."

"Such as?" she prompted gently.

"Such as someone simply listening to him; he needed someone who he could confide in. We should have called in social services earlier, he should have been seen as a high risk, vulnerable child as soon as he walked in, being dirty and ill as he was. We should have gotten counselling earlier, as soon as his more bizarre behaviour, the insomnia and talking to himself, began to manifest. We should have expected him to use his intellect in a devastating manner. But we didn't.

"Tetch was sent back to his room. I do not know what happened, none of the boys had ever spoken of it since, and all of them were pulled out of the school afterwards. All our energy went to keeping the scandal out of the papers and the public eye; there is nothing people love more than to watch the mighty fall. Eton College is mighty, and something like this would have done terrible damage to our image. We went to his dorms to collect him. The minibus for the Children's Home was waiting outside. We went to the room and..." There was a long pause. "All the boys that had told us about Tetch having the girl's underwear, all the boys were on the window ledge, weeping. They were about to jump. Tetch was standing far from them. He had a knife, a large crude steak knife he must have smuggled from our kitchens or from back home. He was with one of the youngest boys, one of his own friends, and he had the knife pressed upon his neck. The young boy's arms had been cut already... there was blood flowing and the boy was pale and near to passing out, and Tetch... Tetch just stood there, as blank and passive as a still lake, as if what he was doing was nothing – his eyes were completely empty, void of any mercy or even hatred. There was nothing. It was one of the most awful things I have ever witnessed.

"Tetch saw us and calmly put down the knife and held up his hands, as if we were policemen and he was a criminal. My colleague rushed to get the boys down from the ledge; they were all damn near hysterical. Unfortunately, I am ashamed to say, I just stood there. I just couldn't... I just couldn't do anything. Tetch, a boy so full of passion and movement was now before me a totally different creature. It was terrible."

"What happened after that?" Leland asked.

"Tetch was sent home. The police were called. Nothing flashy, no sirens or anything. The young boy who had been cut insisted he had done it himself, and his parents, last I heard, had him in the psychiatrist's chair to find out why he had been self harming. The other boys wouldn't say a word. They refused point blank. Nothing could be reported officially, and my colleague and I were politely persuaded that telling the truth of what we saw would serve no end other than to make the College's image tarnished. So we kept our mouths shut as did Tetch's victims. Tetch was permanently expelled and that was it."

"I see. Have you ever told anyone the truth of what happened, other than me?"

"No... It's not something you can bring up in polite conversation, and after he left, it seemed pointless to tell any of the authorities. Like I say, I'm not proud of myself."

"Your information has been invaluable to me, sir," she answered with feeling. "Thank you for telling me. Hopefully we can get Jervis Tetch back on track, a semblance of normal adult life. Please, do not punish yourself anymore."

She could sense his nodding. The pair said their polite goodbyes and hung up.

Leland leaned on the bed, thinking deeply. So Tetch came from a poor family, but was too intelligent. He probably never fitted in anywhere, being too clever for his family and the people around him, but too rough and poor for the richer students who could match his intellect.

Not quite pretty, not quite cute, just a young oddity; it was not surprising to Leland that Tetch was not fostered and had to stay in a care home. Though Mr Hull never said it, possibly never even thought of it, Tetch was the sort of child no one would want to adopt or foster. He was too old and not good looking and too weird. The rejection from his school mates and the potential foster parents must have stung the young boy greatly.

Then there were the sexual undertones: his revealing himself to other boys and having female underwear in his bag. Had he perhaps stolen it from a girl living in the Children's Home with him? She would have to get the number of the Children's Home and find out as much as possible.

'_He's been deluding himself for years,'_ she thought, a shudder going through her. '_And no one picked it up. He's also been manipulating people for years. He probably began learning when he started acting the way the teachers wanted, being polite and well mannered and seemingly controlled. Then he went on to finally make friends, no doubt learning what they wanted and mimicking it. He pushed his natural wild behaviour deep down into himself. But then he realised he could make people do horrible things they did not like, such as threatening an innocent boy and frightening others into possibly killing themselves. He learnt that if he could not manipulate people into doing what he wanted, he would force them, just as he did with Alice.'_

xxXxx

"Wow puddin', you knocked out the Superguy!"

Scarecrow tried not to wince at Harley Quinn's high pitched trilling and her boyfriend's following laughter. He looked at the unconscious form of Superman; it must have taken all of the city's power to do this. Carefully, he picked up Superman's limp wrist and counted the pulse. It was racing, the adrenaline still pumping around his body; it would not be long before he would wake up, and the Arkhamites had no kryptonite. Now was the time to leave.

He slunk away from the body, becoming easily lost within the throes of the other criminals who, stupidly, were closing around the hero. Soon they would start punching and kicking the body, eager to release some of their pent up fury towards all masks and heroes. Scarecrow glanced up to Joker's throne, and was not surprised to find the clown prince and his bint had already disappeared.

Scarecrow had his regrets for walking away from a specimen as rare as Superman himself; he didn't want to physically hurt Superman, but to test his serum on him. _'With his __steel-like __skin, we won't even get the needle through,' _Crane's voice mused away quietly, whilst Scarecrow focused his energies on getting as far away from Superman as humanly possible. _'We could try our gas on him, but then there is a high chance it will not affect him at all.'_ So far any type of material, unless it was laced with kryptonite, was useless against the Man of Steel. Neither Crane nor Scarecrow had known electricity could be used against him, but it took far too much electricity to knock him out for a short time, so that was not an option he would be able to easily utilise in the future.

Going back into C block, Scarecrow crept out of the kitchen door and opened up the drains located just outside of the kitchen. Police would be all over the top land, but he knew there weren't enough officers to cover all of the drain system as well; plus, the Rogues had helped whittle down their numbers within the building, so he was safe in the knowledge that no officer was alive to chase after him. Loud shouts and screams, and sounds of crashing rose behind him – Superman had already awoken and was dishing out some nasty, quick, revenge.

Scarecrow smirked and jumped down into the sewers. The drain was dirty and damp, and full of rats, but the smell wasn't as bad as one might have expected; it was certainly something Scarecrow could cope with. His thin legs raced through the water. He needed to get to the docks; he had a small hideout there which was the first stop he always went to whenever in dire straits. All his basic equipment was hidden away there.

Neither Scarecrow nor Crane worried about missing the oppurtunity to try and use the Fear Gas on Superman; rather they were both excited for the future, for a new idea, thanks to their observations of Tetch and Superman, was beginning to form in their shared brain.

* * *

**Next time:**

Batman makes an appearance.

We discover what Two Face is planning and how the Mad Hatter is to be involved.

Gotham tries to regain it's equilibrium even though the streets are full of the worst criminals of the land.


	22. Scream

_"I was walking down the road with two friends when the sun set; suddenly, the sky turned as red as blood. I stopped and leaned against the fence, feeling unspeakably tired. Tongues of fire and blood stretched over the bluish black fjord. _

"_My friends went on walking, while I lagged behind, shivering with fear. _

"_Then I heard the enormous, infinite scream of nature."_

* * *

Superman patted his hands together, ridding them of the dust and filth they had been covered in as he'd carried seemingly endless amounts of unconscious prisoners back to their cells.

There was always a clear difference between the prisoners of Arkham and prisoners of any other state prison. During breakouts normal prisoners ran away, but in Arkham a shocking amount of them usually stayed unless they were herded out by the tougher, more menacing characters that held authority. It made sense – the prisoners of Arkham were completely reliant on the system. They needed the drugs that were pumped into their veins and mashed into their food; a good number of them had spent a lifetime in the dark corridors of Arkham and this was the only 'home' they knew. And of course, the most institutionalised ones were the prisoners who were aware of how dangerous they were and were unwilling to put anyone they possibly knew and loved in danger. Harvey Dent had been like that for a short while, during his saner moments, in any case.

Even as Superman had begun throwing prisoners into their cells, he had noticed that some were already in their rooms, hiding under beds and tables, evidently not wanting to come out – not even to torture the police or himself. They found no joy or glee in anything, including the torture and misery of others. No, these were not only prisoners of Arkham Asylum, but they were imprisoned within themselves; trapped in terrible nightmares, in a world of monsters, and were unable to get out. They had no interest in hurting the police or citizens of Gotham because they were unaware of anyone but themselves, so terribly were they lost in the horrors their broken minds had subjected them to.

Superman hadn't spoken to the wretched beings, hiding and shivering with wide eyes full of madness and fear. Superman was a good and kind man but, like most people, had no idea how to talk to someone who was clearly insane. He wondered at Batman's ability to handle them (though he assumed a good deal of physical pain was involved, or probably them in a persuasive 'conversation' with Batman). So he ignored them as he finished his task, not really caring what prisoner was dumped in what cell. He had other things to worry about, and all that mattered with the criminals was that they did not escape again. He forced the electric doors of reinforced glass shut before melting them with his laser vision to fix them against the wall. It'd be hell getting the doors open again, but he didn't find himself caring too much.

Back into the main hall, Superman looked down at the bodies of nurses, doctors and policemen. The hill of the dead was more of an odd assortment of limbs and ripped apart bodies. The stench was horrific even though they hadn't even started to decompose yet. It seemed that apart from himself, no one had survived the brutal onslaught by the prisoners. Superman leaned down and looked at one Officer, one of the few who had managed to stay reasonably intact, though he would still not be in an open coffin during his funeral. The man was covered in his own blood, his mouth open wide in a silent scream and his eyes staring; he had died in pain and suffering, that much could be ascertained just by glancing at his facial expression. It disconcerted the hero, and made him think of 'The Scream' by Edvard Munch, an artist painting himself bewailing his own insanity and the inability of others to heal him.

Looking at badge Superman saw that the man's name had been Officer Andrew Kelly.

'_Does he have a family?' _Superman wondered. _'A wife, children, parents he takes care of, brothers or sisters? Are they all at home right now, waiting for him? Preparing for his return?'_ He sighed deeply and sat down next to the pile of bodies, next to all the people he wasn't fast enough to save.

He was the fastest man in the world, he could do the impossible, but he couldn't bring the dead back. Living a double life, it hindered him, slowed him down, but could he really just be Superman all the time, never connecting properly with humans, never making friends? Was it selfish of him to desire a 'normal' life outside of the one that had been chosen for him, even though it crippled him? Was he sacrificing people like Officer Kelly because he made these concessions?

"You're thinking too hard," said a rough voice from out of the darkness shaking him out of his reverie.

Superman turned and, with only his vision, saw Batman creeping his way forward, as stealthy as ever.

"You came," he replied stupidly, "I mean, of course you would even though it was pointless and kind of crazy of you. How are you Batman, other than exhausted?"

The dark knight stood by his side, a thin line of light shinning down on the two heroes, as if heaven was blessing them. Unfortunately they were standing in blood at the location of a massacre, so it looked more like two weary angels surveying the damage left after some heinous act in Hell.

"I'm fine. Just tired," Batman seemed embarrassed to admit that, especially to his best friend. "I came as soon as the electric cut out. It was a huge surge and I knew that it could do some damage."

There was an emphasis on 'some'.

"I'm alright, just went a bit woozy for a while," Superman smiled softly, purposely looking anywhere but the corpses whereas Batman seemed focused on them. "How did you get here?"

"There is a maze of tunnels under Arkham that break out all over Gotham. We're by the sea, it's inevitable really. The criminals use them to get away. The law has yet to get the finances to properly try and regulate the underground."

Superman let out a small sigh, it always came down to money, especially for tight-strapped Gotham. People like Bruce, the exceedingly rich and extremely generous gave what they could, but not everything could be done, and with high ranking corruption, there was no promise that any charity money would end up where it was supposed to anyway.

"You can come back with me, if you like," Batman offered. "You don't need to worry about the victims. The police will deal with it from here, sending messages to families, organising funerals, all that stuff. We just need to focus on the criminals who got away."

"We focus on getting revenge, right? Revenge for the ones who we couldn't save?" Superman couldn't tell if his own question was genuine, or if it were supposed to be biting.

In any case, Batman didn't react to it, other than answering a simple, "That's right", and turning to walk away.

Superman looked down at the heinous pile of victims. It was a never-ending cycle: the deaths, the revenge, the payback, more death and on, and on, and on.

"I need to go out the front way," he called to his colleague, "so that they all know it's ok to come inside. Then I need to go back to Metropolis. Got a story to write up." Knowing he wouldn't get a response, he flew into the air and burst out of Arkham's rooftop.

Far below, deep in the darkness, Batman watched Superman fly away, a mix of disappointment and jealousy burning in his chest. He heard the people roaring and cheering as Superman saluted them and flew away.

'_Yeah, fly away,'_ thought Batman bitterly, _'back to your fake world of bright lights and clean streets.' _He looked over at the corpses, trying to drown out the almost hysterically forced joy he could hear outside. _'I'll stay here, in the real world with the real problems.'_

xxXXxx

Grey clouds formed together as one uniform blanket united against letting the sun shine through to the beleaguered city. The wind was high and, without all the usual sweaty bodies around, was now free to carry the even more unpleasant stench of the city's filthy streets and over-run sewers. Rats, lame pigeons and homeless dogs were free to wander the land, ripping apart dustbins and filling themselves gluttonously with the garbage of Gotham. Bits of drizzle made the atmosphere damp and clammy, adding to the feel of claustrophobia. Gotham was a cesspit, a breeding ground for germs, both literal and non-literal. Good Gothamites who had boarded up their houses as demanded by the television were now trapped in not only silence, but darkness, the natural light being too dull to break through boarded windows to light up their homes. Without the power there was no distraction that could dull their senses. Every individual hiding in their home was now hyper-aware of everything: the depressing atmosphere, the silent streets and lack of traffic noise, the darkness, the emptiness and how alone they all really were. It was maddening, and like a germ fear began to spread, travelling in the filthy air and infecting everyone, multiplying and spreading without mercy; driving people slowly but surely insane, eating up their other emotions and their logic and their reasoning. The disease of Arkham had broken out along with its carriers, and now all of Gotham stood on the brink. The only ones who were still feeling fine were the said carriers, the rats of the land.

Underground, Scarecrow hummed happily as he waded through the stinking mire, enjoying the silence and revelling in the quiet dread that held a terrorist's grip on the city.

'We need money,' thought Crane, 'if we are to continue our studies.'

'_The Sandman came in his train of cars!'_ Scarecrow smiled. _'With moonbeam windows and with wheels of stars. So hush, you little one, and have no fear. The man-in-the-moon, he is the engineer.'_

'No, forget about Tetch,' he griped. 'We don't need an engineer. We can do it as just the pair of us. Besides, Batman didn't come. It was Superman. The plan didn't quite go how we wanted it to. Hatter is unreliable – look how he went missing suddenly.'

'_The Sandman __**came **__in his train of cars!'_ insisted Scarecrow.

Crane ignored it, knowing it was pointless telling Scarecrow anything, and instead decided to change track. 'We need to start the new experiment, the one of mixing fear gas with some sort of emotion. But that's going to be hard and expensive. I need money quickly. We could rob a bank, but that would gain too much attention.'

'_See-saw, Margery Daw, Johnny shall have a new master,_' trilled Scarecrow nastily. _'He shall earn but a penny a day, because he can't work any faster!'_

'I'm _trying _to think quickly. Large amounts of money come from robbing the very rich or winning the lottery! Anything else takes time... Wait... Ah, what do you think of this? We could rig a few bets and gain the money that way. Plus, this way we can start our serum idea, only we will have to make it react with something more basic than a type of emotion.'

'_A farmer went trotting upon his grey mare,'_ whispered Scarecrow_. 'A raven cried "Croak", and they all tumbled DOWN. The mare broke her knees and the farmer his crown. The mischievous raven flew, laughing away...'_

'Frightening people in the middle of action,' mused Crane in response. 'We liked seeing Tetch change the way he did, transforming into Hatter. Then if only we could have done something like that to Superman; if we had only been able to inject him just before the adrenaline rush began. We would have been able to cut him off just at the right time. Is that what you want us to do? I suppose it shouldn't be too difficult, with what we have in storage. We have to find a way of infecting sportsmen, and then only having the serum affect them during a game. No one would guess that it was me that had done it. They will all just think the sportsmen had some sort of breakdown. Then we can bet on the outcome of the game, knowing that key players on whatever side we choose are going to melt down in a puddle of their own fears. Tell me, Scarecrow, are you happy with me now I have a plan of sorts?'

'_Little Jack Horner sat in the corner, eating his Christmas pie. He put in his thumb and pulled out a plum, and said "What a good boy, am I!"'_

Crane grinned, knowing that was the best praise he could expect from his counterpart.

Likewise, as this almost jovial exchange was happening, Two-Face planned and Harvey brooded, enjoying the dark. His men below sat in the fake emergency lighting, Tetch drinking tea and they playing cards, as if all were right with the world.

These ones had the sickness in their bones, in their DNA; it had soaked through them so thoroughly. Now they were the disease.

Tetch sipped his tea and sighed contentedly, his toes wriggling in his prison pumps. He wasn't that overwhelmingly fond of tea; it wasn't the sweet and creamy taste that soothed him, it was what the tea represented: everything that was English and middle-class and proper. In the United Kingdom every situation called for a brew: news of a divorce, news of a wedding, a long day putting up with rain and high wind, or sitting in the garden on a warm July evening. There was always a cup of tea slowly cooling, beckoning its drinker to sip, sip and sip some more.

In this false sense of homeliness and belonging, Tetch turned to Bobo and asked, "When and how did you become a member of these modern day merry men?"

"Huh?" Bobo's mouth was open ever so slightly, a light bit of drool forming in one corner and threatening to fall. He looked like a Gollum, big, ugly, with little hair and tiny eyes, wearing a suit which made him seem ridiculous. Tetch never imagined he would ever willingly strike up conversation with such a being, and idly wondered if Bobo was even some sort of throwback, or a ancient off shoot of humanity that scientists (for whatever reason) hadn't yet discovered, yet here he was, trying to get Bobo to talk over a polite cup of tea.

"When did you join this group," he asked again, "with Rattlesnake and the others?"

"Oh, sorry, Mister Tetch, I ain't too smart. I can't always keep up with what people are sayin' to me."

"Quite alright, quite alright, do not distress yourself," Tetch patted Bobo's large knee so rapidly his hand could hardly be seen making the movement, "please, do tell me though; I'm very interested in you."

Bobo's beady eyes lit up, "r-really? No one's ever really wanted to listen to me before! Well... me an' Sam have been friends for years. Sam takes good care of me. We started workin for da rogues about... uhhhh... uhhhh..." (Tetch waited patiently)" about four years ago? I think anyways. Sam gots a job wiv Mister Scarface and after dat, we just stared to get more and more jobs wiv da rogues. Da money is pretty good," Bobo smiled, "but dat's because working wid rogues is more dangerous."

"Due to the... temperamental nature of the Rogues, no doubt?"

"Uh, no." Bobo blinked stupidly, not quite understanding what was said. "Because of Batman."

"I suppose Batman being more dangerous than the Rogues makes some sort of sense." Tetch thought back of his time in Arkham, and his battle with the Dark Knight. "But, by what I've experienced, the Rogues aren't the safest people to be around, either. I don't think I prefer them over Batman."

"But Batman don't pay me to 'elp 'im," answered Bobo with earnest after frowning at Tetch's response, his small mind working over-time cutting through the unknown vocabulary to understand the basic point Tetch was making. "Do Rogues pay you to 'elp 'em? They make it easier for me an' Sam an' Wheels an' all of us. We'd be living under the bridge leading to the East End or in some crowded bedsit in the Bowery, or in Blackgate." He chuckled as if this was most amusing before resuming his more serious manner, "'least dey give us sumink. Batman doesn't help us or nothing. He don't get me no job nor give me any money. I do what I have to, just like everyone else."

"But was there nothing else you could do? It seems unnecessarily dangerous working with rogues. I have been pulled into this but you have chosen this life. You're a big fellow and strong too, why didn't you go into doing some sort of manual labour, or become a bouncer at a club? You seem the type that would be useful in such work."

"Not enough jobs in dem and even if der was, I'm not smart enough for anything over than using these," he lifted his fists, "you wouldn't want me trying to work all dem machines or using an axe or a drill or anyfink. I'm just good at hitting and hurting. My dad knew dat, once I got really big, he used me to help rob da rich folks."

"And you don't feel bad about that? I was attacked once, when I was with a lady friend, by two men hoping to rob us. It was frightening."

Bobo shrugged. "At least, if you got robbed, you would still have a home to go back to dat night."

xxXXxx

Even though the power was off, the news anchors continued recording outside the Asylum; they could just replay everything they had once the power was back on.

"Arkham is back under control. It seems that Superman has done alone what our entire police force could not do: quell the riot in the Asylum." Summer brushed some of her hair from her eyes. "But the nightmare is not over yet – many Rogues escaped Arkham. So citizens are advised to remain indoors or outside of the city in a safe place."

Recording stopped and her cameraman, Dave, gave her the thumbs-up before stepping out from behind the camera. He spat on the ground and looked up at the Asylum. The last of the police force was inching inside, leaving the outside clear of anyone but reporters.

"Not one person has come out of there," he said, "other than Superman. I got ten bucks that says they're all dead."

"There should have been more help," Summer replied. "They should have sent reinforcements from the nearest country. We needed help with this."

"We always need help," Dave argued, standing next to her, his eyes still on the building. "The Rogues are always breaking outta that place. The only surprising thing about this particular breakout is that it happened before lunch. Ah, here we go."

Summer saw black body bags were now being carried out of the Asylum by antsy-looking officers in gloved hands, boots red from the profusion of spilt blood from the victims. Lt. Jerry and Gordon, even from a distance, looked tired and distraught. The raid had gone as it always went in Arkham: horribly wrong and at a high price.

"Well, that was pretty quick," said Dave.

"Superman must have knocked out all of the prisoners, so the police can do their job quickly."

"Pfft, why can't _we_ have a Superman? I swear to god Gotham gets nothing and Metropolis gets everything! All we've got is a decent public transport system, more rats, more tramps and some freak in a cape who only comes out at night." He began to turn on the camera. "An absolute waste. He can't even do anything that great. Crime isn't down since he arrived, but it is in Metropolis since Superman showed up there! Ok, we're gonna roll again; we need to get footage of the body bags."

* * *

**A.N. -This chapter has now been beta'd so should read better, but I had to add peices, so please say if anything reads wrong or repeats.**

**The qoute is by Edvard Munch on his painting 'The Scream.' The explaination of the painting in the story is my own reasoning. Officially most people agree that it is about anxiety.**

**This is a relatively short chapter, but I wanted to get it up loaded quickly. Hope you liked it.**


	23. Meanwhile a side chapter

**A.N- Ok guys, as you know it takes me quite a long time to up-date. Whilst planning and writing the next chapter in this story, I ended up doing this peice on the side. It was initially meant to be inter-changed between action from the main characters, but I thought it worked better alone. Therefore the main two characters Tetch and Crane aren't in this chapter, but I hope it'll be something to tide you over while the proper chapter is being written. I thought it would be better to load up as a buffer chapter, rather than deleting it.**

**Now beta'd many thanks to my beta, eeyop1428**

* * *

There is a time before the arrival of a storm when the air is heavy with electricity and the atmosphere is thick and tense. It's almost a relief when the clouds break and the rain falls down weightily, crashing on to the earth with such force that it destroys and breaks the vegetation and hardened pavements; the lightning flashes across a dark sky, temporarily lighting up the scenery with a flare of white, coursing energy that simultaneously thrills and terrifies; the deep booms of thunder call out shortly afterwards, frightening all living things and making them cower under the storm's brutal regime.

However, that quiet tense time before – when everyone hides in the safety of their homes; when the animals scuttle down dark holes and the deep cavernous Gotham drains; when bones ache and headaches pound and breathing is difficult, all with the natural anticipation of oncoming, unstoppable violence – this was what Gotham had been experiencing almost all day. The Rogues all went to their hideouts and waited; Batman donned his uniform early and stood like a giant gargoyle on one of Gotham's mightiest sky scrapers, Wayne Towers, whereas Two-Face brooded in the dark, his dark alter-ego becoming steadily stronger and more irate as the darkness slowly spread itself over the land.

In Officer Kelly's home his unfortunate family, still unaware of his fate, sat closely together in the living room, still and frightened. The electricity was still off. There was no artificial lighting and the windows were boarded. Despite being a city it was silent, for no one was outside and everyone was hiding. There was no television, no telephones and no radios, so no communication was available.

One of Kelly's children, precocious nine-year-old Leanne, crawled away from her dozing mother and tense siblings and went to the boarded up window. There was a crack of light shining through and when she put her eye to it she could see the pale, grey sky dimming. When the sun, hidden by the clouds, finally retreated and left their side of the world in darkness, she took in a deep breath like one about to dive into black, murky waters.

Suddenly, there was a car crash outside. It was obnoxiously loud, shrieking tyres preceding a loud crunching sound as the metal car twisted around some large, immovable object.

Louise was snapped out of her doze and the children around her winced. Her baby girl, Mary-Anne, who was still in her pushchair, whined anxiously.

"Leanne!" hissed Louise, "get back here!"

Leanne shuffled back towards her mother and older brothers sheepishly. "I was waiting for papa," she responded in a complaining tone. "It's gone dark outside but he isn't back yet."

Louise felt her heart jolt but didn't allow it to affect her face. "Well just stay here with me," she continued to whisper. "Night time is dangerous when this many Rogues are out. We'll all sleep here together tonight. I'll go get blankets, all of you must stay here and do not talk!"

Louise and Kelly lived in a relatively small town house. However, Kelly, being an officer, earned enough of a wage to support his family and to have them live in a house as opposed to an apartment like most of their friends. Louise worked part time at the local supermarket, her money bringing in the little extra they needed to occasionally take the kids away on short weekend breaks or to buy extra things, such as toys or books for school. Their house was little but it had two levels, an upstairs and a downstairs. They didn't have a basement but they did have a very small attic that held their junk and a family of squirrels. Louise, in short, should not have been so afraid to step out of her living room to go upstairs to grab a few blankets, but she felt terrified. A lump settled in her throat at the thought of leaving her children alone in the living room on the ground level, and her heart raced as she stepped out and looked up at the dark stairs leading to the upstairs bathroom and bedrooms. She wondered if she should just forget the whole thing and let them sleep downstairs as they were, but she couldn't ask her children to sleep on the floor with nothing above or below them just because she was too scared. She had hoped Kelly would be back by now with news of how most, if not all, of the villains had been rounded up, but he wasn't here and there had been no news on the Rogues, so she had to assume they were still out there.

She glanced back at her children. Bill was holding the baby with Josie beside him, Josie gently stroking the baby's hair, and John was sitting with Leanne on his lap, the pair looking through a picture book but neither of them speaking. Good, she just needed them to stay quiet. God knows if someone like the Joker was outside... no! She wouldn't allow herself to think of those things! Instead she cautiously climbed up the stairs, watched by her anxious children.

She climbed up each step slower than usual, her eyes fixed on the landing above and her hand gripping the stair rail a little too tightly. Every movement was specific and careful. There was a creak on the fifth stair that gave her pause for a moment. Her head cocked ever so slowly to the side as she unconsciously listened out for her children. All was silent for a few heart beats, before she could hear the slight sound of paper in a book being turned and her children's careful breathing. She knew that the fifth stair creaked, they all did, though normally they never really noticed; but in the tense silence, the slight creak now sounded like a loud, audacious threat. She continued on until she finally reached the top, the journey seemingly like a long and arduous trek up a steep mountain side. But it was not over yet.

The dark of night had not completely taken over yet. Instead it was the strange deep blue of late evening that cast its mysterious hue about the house, shadowing objects to make them appear larger and more threatening than what they really were. It was lucky that it was her own home, or Louise may have lost her confidence and ran back downstairs sooner. Instead she rolled her shoulders, telling herself that she was an adult and to stop being stupid, and opened the door to the first bedroom. It was her's and Kelly's. It was a humble room and a little untidy. Clothes were strewn across the floor from the mayhem of this morning when both realised they had woken up late for work, and there was a plate of cookies left on the top of their little chest of drawers against the bed from when they had guiltily scoffed the last of the yummy food the night before. She smiled softly, a small voice in the back of her head barely whispering that she might never see her fiancé again, before she pulled the quilt off her bed.

Outside a dog began to bark incessantly. Louise glanced at the boarded up window but decided to not let it spook her; she knew that particular dog – it belonged to a neighbours – and the dog was well known for being very noisy and barking at practically anything that moved. She was a bit concerned that her neighbours hadn't brought the dog indoors with them, but maybe the dog was too noisy and therefore a risk to keep in the house. It sounded brutal, but it was better to let the dog stay outside and, worst case scenario, get killed, than have it in the house barking and yapping and attracting attention so that someone broke in and the entire family was slaughtered. Gotham was a brutal city not because it wanted to be, but because it had to be.

Then there was a creak on the stair. Her eyes widened and her heart leapt into her throat. She turned around stiffly before seeing the small scared face of her seven-year-old daughter Josie. It did not comfort her, but rather her fear for what she would see had now transferred into a fear for her family – why was her child upstairs when she had expressly told them to stay where they were; why had her brothers allowed her to go?

Josie's pale hair was wet slightly with sweat and her blue eyes were as wide as her mother's; they stared at each other for a moment that existed in time like a still frame, each female looking so like the other that the family resemblance was undeniable and somewhat heartbreaking. Then in a sudden movement the spell was broken and Louise rushed forward, the quilt still in her hands. "What is it?" she barely whispered. "Why are you up here?"

Josie shook her head, as if too frightened to speak before mouthing, "We think someone's waiting outside."

There was a faint rumble outside, almost like the sound of thunder, but no rain or lightning seemed to accompany it. Louise hadn't registered it anyway, instead thinking:

_Her daddy, Kelly?_

_A neighbour?_

_A stranger left in the dark?_

_A Rogue?_

These words ran through her head faster than she could process them before she gave a single nod and began to slide downstairs with her child, leaving the quilt on the top of the landing. They were too afraid to walk and so they crept down in a strange motion, almost like sliding down on their rears but without actually sitting on the stairs and causing a loud bump each time they descended down a step. They both had the sense to skip the fifth step altogether.

In the living room, Leanne was holding Mary-Anne and both John and Bill stood with grim faces, each holding a knife. They looked like child soldiers, older before their time, weary and with a fear etched deep into their bones. It broke her heart to see them looking like that but she knew that she needed them to be tough and to be able to fight if they were going to survive growing up in a city like Gotham. They all shared a tight look as she sent Josie to stand with her siblings. She then took the knife off Bill and walked to the window. Peeking through the same crack Leanne had looked through earlier, Louise at first could only see the darkness of the night sky until something went across the crack quickly. She stepped back, her heart beating. She slunk out of the living room and looked at her front door. Whatever had moved outside the house had walked in the direction of the front door. The front door had a window next to it (boarded up of course) and a peep-hole at its centre.

She gulped and headed towards the peep-hole, tiptoeing slightly to see through it. There was another distant rumble of thunder, but this time it was closer. The air was heavier than before and the heat was almost unbearable.

Behind Louise, her two boys and Josie slid out of the living room, sinking into the darkness, and went up behind her with an unnatural stealth. They were backing their mom up – no way was she standing alone to face some entity separated from her by a mere piece of wood. John still had his own knife but Bill now had a rolling pin; he was aware that a rolling pin as a weapon would be comical in most of the cartoons he watched, but he had decided that here, in reality, it could do some damage if he needed it to. Josie didn't have anything, and her brothers had not wanted her to come with them. But Josie was seven years old and determined not to be afraid of anything, feeling that, as the youngest (short of Mary-Anne), she had to prove herself. Still, she flanked further behind her two brothers.

In the living room, Leanne stood holding the baby tightly to her chest, aware that she would be the last thing standing in the way of their most precious family member should someone evil be waiting outside. She was breathing noisily through her mouth; she couldn't help it, it was as if all the clear oxygen had been sucked away from the room. It was too hot, too stifling and too difficult to breathe through her nose. When she heard the next sound of oncoming thunder, she gulped with difficulty and began to hate the feeling of her t-shirt sticking to her back from sweat.

Louise put her eye to the peep-hole, her face so close to the door that she could feel her breath radiating back off its wood on to her face. At first she couldn't make out anything, but then an eye suddenly appeared, large and distorted, making her leap back.

"Excuse me," called a whiny voice outside, "excuse me, but I need help." The door was knocked by what must have been a heavy fist. "Please, it's my doggy, he's broken. Can I come in? I need help."

There was a high-pitched, pained yelping sound, the kind a dog made when injured, and Louise suddenly realised that her neighbours' dog had stopped yapping some time ago.

"Please," whined the voice, "please let us in, the dog is dying."

There was more pained yelping, this time it extended for a little longer. Louise closed her eyes, feeling torn. The dog was outside being tormented, but if she let in this man, surely he would kill her and her children. She couldn't risk it, yet the sound of the innocent animal suffering was torturous.

"He's killing it," she heard Bill mutter desperately, his teeth clenched together.

She turned and glared at him, noticing her children for the first time. She put a shaking finger to her lips and shook her head. He closed his mouth but still looked defiant.

"I don't know what I have to do to make you believe me," said the muffled voice from outside, "but trust me, I'm just some fat guy stuck out here with a broken dog I need to fix. Please, don't be afraid. I don't wanna hurt nobody."

"Maybe we can take the dog but hit him round the head, knocking him out," she heard Josie whisper behind her.

"No," John had replied, "we can't, now get back in the living room, Josie!"

"We can't let it die!"

Louise faced them again and saw that they were looking at one another and looking disobedient. Even though John was backing up his mother, she could see that his heart wasn't in it, that he wanted to save the dog as much as Josie and Bill. Her chest was so tightly constricted from the growing pressure of the situation that she was now in absolute physical pain. It was hard to think when she could feel her children's aggression; the man wouldn't shut up and the dog kept making those terrible, pained sounds.

'_If I let that dog die out there,'_ she thought_, 'they'll never forgive me. But should I rather that than risking their lives? Maybe they'll understand when they're older... or maybe they'll always see me as a monster but will at least be alive to do so.'_

They dog let out a low howl this time, clearly in pained death throes. Gritting her teeth and cursing herself, Louise unlocked the door and flung it open.

A round-bodied fat man in a long raincoat stood with the local dog (she recognised that it was her neighbours', but she didn't recognise the man at all) bleeding heavily in his arms. The man was huge but had a dopey sort of face. She held out her knife threateningly, making him step back, little black hamster-like eyes shining but betraying no emotion.

"Gimme the dog," she growled, "then get the fuck away from my home!"

He put the panting dog down on her stoop and stepped away, his hands up. Her two boys came round and cautiously pulled the dog inside, it yelping with pain as they did. A trail of blood was left on the ground. She wanted to ask the man what he had been doing to it, but she no longer cared; they had saved the dog and he had backed off.

"Can I at least come inside?" he asked. "It's scary and dark out here. And I think a storm is coming. It's been bad weather all day." He smiled at her.

She stared back, momentarily stumped; the situation was bordering on bizarre. Louise then shook her head and began to close the door.

"Wait, wait!" the man called and for a moment a flash of guilt shot through her system like lightning and she wondered if she had saved a dog, but was leaving a man outside to his doom. However, she could trust the dog not to hurt her family; the strange man on the other hand, she could not. She continued to shut the door as all these thoughts flew through her mind, but the man ran like a quarter back and slammed into the door, pushing it open and throwing her back onto the floor.

She looked up at him in shock. Lightning flashed behind him before torrential rain began to pour down. She could see now that the raincoat he wore was far too tight and that underneath it he was wearing the hideous orange jumpsuits she knew Arkham inmates wore. Louise wanted to scream but she couldn't – instead she scrambled backwards as he sauntered into her home. Her two boys rushed out of the kitchen, each brandishing their weapons. They had taken the dog into the kitchen and were working out how to fix the poor creature up so it would survive until the morning – when they would be able to hopefully leave their home and find a vet – when they had heard the door banging open and realised, with terror-stricken hearts, that they had left their mother alone with a strange, heavy-set man. Josie was left with the dog as the two boys ran back out to defend their mother.

"No!" Louise screamed, running towards them to try and stop them before they got themselves killed. "No, boys, no!"

The fat man screamed as John cut into his side with the knife. The poor boy couldn't pull the knife back out however and the fat man lifted him up and flung him at his mother, making them both fall further into the dark hallway. (It was at this moment that Leanne with the baby ran past them and up the stairs, but in the darkness and chaos, no one noticed.) Bill came in from the other side and had beaten the rolling pin onto the man's arm, hoping to temporarily stop him using it. However, the pin instead broke in half and the man roared out, "Broken, broken, you're all broken! He was right, he was right!" The man began to weep as he shouted his bizarre revelation, grabbing Bill and throwing him so roughly onto the stairs that something in the child snapped. Bill screamed in agony, his body contorted in a way that revealed that his back had been badly injured.

Meanwhile, Leanne had run upstairs into the bedroom she and Josie shared. She slammed the door shut and pushed her chest of drawers in front of it, praying silently for her family to survive. Then she settled Mary-Anne, who was silent and wide-eyed with fear, on her bed before she began to search through her toy box. Finally, she found it: a torch and a plastic bat toy. The bat had belonged to Bill when he was younger, but he had gotten tired of toys and so she took it instead. Josie had always laughed at her saying that it was a boy's toy, but Leanne had always wanted to keep it.

Working quickly, she tore down her pictures and paintings off her wall and stole the blue-tack she had used for them to stick the bat onto the window. She then got her torch and balanced it at an angle on her desk so that it shone out behind the toy bat but was far away enough that its circle of light was quite large.

"Let's hope the batteries stay up and this actually works," she whispered, looking over Mary-Anne and seeing that the small child was now weeping and sniffling quietly. Downstairs they could hear Bill's agonised screams and their mother pleading. Mary-Anne was two years old and too young to understand what was really happening, but she did understand that everyone she loved was frightened and in pain right now, and that she possibly would be next. Leanne opened her closet and took out a bright pink plastic baseball bat she had played with in the summer. It wasn't as good as a real wooden bat but it was the best she had. She then crawled onto the bed and took Mary-Anne into her arms, all whilst watching the bedroom door and listening to her family's screams.

The fat man was leaning down over a sobbing Bill. "I will fix you," he was saying, "will have to take you apart and put you back together again, ok?" He smiled stupidly, before taking out of his pocket a needle. "I just need some thread," he continued, turning to look at Louise. "I need some thread and something to cut with. Nothing like this." He pointed to the kitchen knife still sticking in his side. "Something good," he emphasised, "so that it can cut through bones. Do you have an axe or something?"

The blood drained from Louise's face as she crawled on her knees begging, "Please, please do not take my boy away from me. Please, don't fix him, he's ok... honestly, he's ok..."

"But he isn't," said the round man as if she were crazy. "He can't even get up now. It's my fault. I'll fix him, honest injun I will."

John now got back to his feet and with a roar, and a scream from his mother, he ran at the large behemoth. The giant man screamed at the boy, insulted that he was being attacked again, and then threw the child into the wall. John slammed into it and slunk to the floor like a discarded ragdoll, his head leaving a large smatter of blood on the wall where he had been injured. Louise ran over to him, horrified that her unconscious child may be dead.

"Why?" she cried, looking at the fat man. "You've hurt both my sons, please leave me alone now!"

"But it's not my fault, it's them who hurt me and I got mad. I will fix them."

"Stop breaking them in the first place!" she shrieked, feeling like she was going insane, when there was a polite cough.

The man and Louise turned to see Josie standing at the end of the corridor. The dog was in her arms. It was bandaged up and seemingly unconscious.

"S-s-sometimes," Josie said shakily, watching the fat man carefully, "i-if you w-want to f-fix something, you c-can use b-bandages not... not... y'know..." She nodded at the needle in the large man's hand.

He watched her for a minute before looking at the now unconscious Bill on the stairway, his face pale and his body twisted; he looked at the bleeding and equally unconscious John; he looked at Louise weeping, and then he looked back at a frightened Josie.

"No," he said, "I think that Mr Scarecrow was right; everything is broken and I'm just doing what is right and natural by chopping everything up, then putting it back together again." He smiled genuinely. "I am making the world a better place."

"Josie, Josie run!" screamed Louise as the man began to walk towards her child.

Josie, the dog still in her arms, vanished behind the wall into the kitchen. When in there she put the dog onto the side and grabbed the bread knife, watching with a shaking hand for the man to arrive. He never did.

Instead, when she left he almost immediately forgot about her because Louise, realising she needed to distract him away from her daughter, ran forwards and ripped the knife out of his side, causing him to roar in pain. She then ran out into the pouring rain and screamed at the top of her lungs.

"Please!" she cried, her voice breaking and sore from the volume, and from how her voice tore out of her throat. "Please, oh god, please, help me! Help my babies! Please, he's gonna kill us all!"

She stood in the street, tall town houses and towers surrounding her, and she knew that hundreds of people were behind the endless number of blank, black, boarded up windows, but only the pounding rain and sounds of lightning and thunder answered her. The only break from the darkness was a light shining out of her daughters' bedroom window. She could see the 'bat signal' being reflected onto the house opposite. Leanne had somehow done this...

Before she could think any more she let out one last scream before the man grabbed her from behind and with one large hand covered her mouth and nose. Her legs began to kick automatically as she brought up her hands to try and rip his one hand from her face.

"I just wanted to fix things," he complained, "I was just doing my job, I –"

His rant was suddenly cut off and she was released. She fell to the ground and turned. Her heart stopped for a moment. In front of her was the slumped form of the large man. Behind him was a tall black shadow. It looked at her, its pure white eyes glowing in the dark.

Was this Batman? He seemed a lot scarier than she'd anticipated, and her instincts told her that he was a villain too and that she needed to run away from him. However, her kids were still in the house and she was logical enough to know that he was a hero.

"M-my babies," she stammered. "He hurt them, I-I need to get them to the hospital but –"

Batman took something that looked like some sort of radio transmitter from out of his belt and began talking into it. "Gordon," he commanded, "get to Burnley. Number 17, a tall town house. A family has been attacked by Humpty Dumpty and needs critical assistance." He then hung up. "Get inside," he told Louise. "Lock the doors and fix up your kids. The police will be here in five minutes or less."

She nodded and ran back to her home. She took one last glance of the street before she closed her door, but both Batman and Humpty Dumpty were gone.

* * *

**Poor family, the night still isn't over, the boys are seriously injured and they've yet to find out that Kelly (Officer Kelly) has been tortured to death by Joker. I debated over killing some, if not all, of the family, but decided that there had been enough tragedy. This is un-beta'd so please excuse errors (but by all means feel free to point them out.)**

**Next chapter will be back to Tetch. :)**


	24. Genesis

A.N- Thank you to my beta, eeyop1428 :)

* * *

The air was thick and heavy. Tetch had a terrible headache, as he always did when a storm threatened to begin. He had drunk his weight in tea and had listened to Bobo's entire life story in ponderous detail; not to say Bobo's life wasn't interesting, but with the pressure of the night and upcoming events, as well as the physical pressure between his temples, Tetch was feeling decidedly on edge, his earlier feelings of giddy happiness now completely dissipated.

As the sun had set, Dent had told the men to turn off the lights because he didn't want to attract the attention of the Caped Crusader. As a result, they had also been sitting in the growing dark, and as the shadow's dark fingers spread forward and ate up the building's interior, so had the feelings of dread and anxiety in Tetch. His life had taken such a strange turn in the last few weeks that he didn't know what to make of it.

"We will leave now," Dent growled, his voice husky and dead. Tetch watched him closely. The one human eye was dead and cold. He could tell it was Dent who was talking now; the poor man was nothing more than a puppet to his own misery. But would Two-Face emerge at some point? Would it only be when Dent was angry, or when Two-Face felt that he needed to appear?

'_Will I ever become like that?_' Tetch wondered. _'Will I become two identities, something that is one in the same body but also separate, like the symbol of Pisces, forever conflicting against one another but somehow finding a way to work around each other?'_

"We will get to Wayne Tower," continued Dent, "by the time night has fully fallen. Tetch, I need you to get everything you need in five minutes or less. You know that Wayne Tower is essentially a modern day fortress, and I don't want to attract too much attention. Let's go."

The men suddenly galvanised into action, surprising Tetch with their speed and professionalism. They all looked like mindless thugs on what seemed like a vague quest, but in fact they all knew exactly what they were doing. In that moment of clarity Tetch's admiration for them clouded into further anxiety for his own self. If they all knew what they were doing exactly, then was there some loop that he had been left out of? Two-Face hadn't really spoken to his men at all, meaning this plan must have been hatched some time ago. Was Tetch merely a pawn in their plans?

'_But of course I am,'_ he thought bitterly. _'I'm always just the pawn. It doesn't matter though...' _The men began to walk out of the hideout and into a large black van with dark-tinted windows. _'I'll show them what I'm made of, I always do...'_

Feeling oddly mutinous, Tetch clambered into the large van with as much dignity as he could, Bobo settling in beside him and making sure Tetch had his seatbelt on.

"Wheels drives fast sometimes," Bobo explained. "I don't want you getting hurt, Mr Hat Sir."

"Thank you, Bobo," replied Tetch with feeling, ignoring the spike of murderous rage he had felt towards Bobo for the patronising action only a second before the stupid man's clumsy explanation.

In the car, Wheels turned on the air-conditioning to full blast. Tetch peeked out of the window and saw thick black clouds rumbling, flashes of light shooting through them. The storm had arrived.

"Tonight's going to be insane," tittered Sam next to Tetch. "All the inmates of Arkham are gonna be out tonight causing chaos."

Tetch didn't say anything, but he remembered what it was like being a civilian in these times. Had life remained the same, he would now be in his house, the windows and doors boarded, a few candles lit, '_Alice in Wonderland'_ by his side, and the couch made up so he could sleep on it. He almost liked it when the inmates escaped. Everything would be so quiet and calm, occasionally interrupted by violence out in the street, but that was rare as the area Tetch lived in wasn't the richest area, but wasn't in the gutters either. It served to be upper working class sometimes, so while he could afford better, he never really aimed to.

'_But now I'm the one who is outside,'_ he thought. _'I'm part of the madness. I've joined the tea party.'_

He grinned, suddenly feeling the warmth of belonging.

The rain began to pour down, heavy and consistent. The sewers, which were already full from the rain in the daytime, would now be flooding, bringing up all the vile sewage and rats and cockroaches. It was quite symbolic of Gotham's plight. As they went further into the city centre, Tetch began to notice more and more movement in the heavy shadows. Like rats, the underworld had risen up and was scavenging on the upper world, looking for spoils and riches and victims.

Suddenly, a little yellow van flew past them. They just hit the rear of it, sending it careening off with a loud screech into the poorer suburbs. There was a distant sound of a crash.

"Damned fool!" cried Wheels. "Where'd that jackass learn to drive?"

Silence returned after that, but already the dream-like strangeness had been shattered, and Tetch remembered again where he was and who he was with.

The van suddenly stopped near a darkened alley.

"This is where we get off," growled Two-Face, dragging out Tetch and Sam.

The rest of the team remained in the van and drove away.

"Where are they going?" asked Tetch, missing Bobo and his ponderous presence already.

"We need to make sure Batman stays adequately distracted. Let's go."

They went through the alley. It was crammed with the homeless; small fires that they had dared to light lit up pale, weathered and worn faces. It was terrible; they were refugees in their own land, in their own city. Some were men, some were women, some were old and some were young. Poverty, for all its evils, at least chooses its victims equally; no one is considered unworthy of its curse. The homeless were all terrified of the inmates, and so no one approached Two-Face and his minions.

On the other side of the alley, they could see the skyscraper that was the symbol of Wayne Enterprises towering over them. In the daytime, Wayne Tower seemed like a beacon of light and of progress for Gotham; it was the city's most expensive and modern building, and any person who wanted a decent and honest living wanted to work there. Wayne Enterprises, despite being run by a playboy millionaire, was still something the Gothamites felt they could be proud of. Even better: its main building was taller and more impressive than Arkham Asylum, the only other eye-catching building in the city. It was strange seeing it without its many lights being on, but still, the flashes of lightning lit it up and its dark silhouette still dominated the skyline; though being lit up by the lightning and standing in the darkness, it now seemed threatening rather than impressive.

Tetch and Sam were both drenched, Tetch still being in his thin prison slacks, and Sam wearing a cheap suit. Two-Face looked the most comfortable – he was also in a suit, though nothing he was wearing was cheap, and he had a trilby hat on. He looked like a rich businessman, or lawyer; his face was mangled but Tetch still wouldn't have thought that he was a Rogue, just that he was extremely unfortunate. Out of all of them, Two-Face looked the most unruffled by the weather and situation, but still he complained, "Let's get on, I hate the rain. Sam, you know the plan. Tetch, he'll make a small enough hole in the window for you to get in. I need you to then get what you need. I know it's not a lot and you can carry it all."

"We may not need to break in," said Tetch. "Not many people know this, but Wayne Enterprises has its own electricity generator. It powers just enough to keep the doors working and security up tight. If you break in, the alarms won't go off, but you'll be caught on hundreds of cameras before you can say 'calloo callay'. I have a code to get in because I worked here. It's better for me to use that. I used to do this a lot when I was an employee here."

"What if that code has been rejected?" said Sam. "Wayne or your other bosses must have revoked it."

"It's still worth a go," said Two-Face. "If it doesn't work I'll send you in with him, Sam. Then you can focus on keeping out of as many cameras as possible."

"Sure thing, boss." Sam grinned at Tetch. "I'm practically the master of thievery. You're lucky to have me on your side, Hatter."

Sure enough, Tetch's old pass still worked. He grinned, feeling he had, for the first time in months, done something right. The other two nodded at him and allowed him to enter.

"Should I go with him, boss?" asked Sam. "To make sure he stays in the shadows?"

"It doesn't matter if the cameras catch him," answered Two-Face. "He isn't connected to me or any of you. So if he gets caught at a later date, that doesn't mean we will be."

Sam smirked and the pair walked away, Sam going to call the second car that was waiting on standby to pick him and the boss up.

'_This is why I like the boss,'_ he thought to himself_. 'Do your job right and he'll keep you around. Sucks for Bobo and the others, but still...'_

Tetch walked quickly, keeping to the left and away from as many cameras as possible. No doubt some of them would pick him up; he was no expert thief, but hopefully no one would check the cameras until tomorrow. Tetch didn't care so much about going back to prison; all he wanted was enough time to rid himself of that swine who had ruined his life. And, if he did well for Two-Face, maybe the others back in Arkham would lay off him a little.

'_Ye gods, it's just like school again,'_ he thought_. 'There's plenty of room at their table, but still they insist on 'no room!', and then they keep pushing and pushing at you until eventually you end up doing something terrible to them.' _He shook his head_. 'Just like school!'_

He took the stairs and got to the Neurosciences ward where he had worked. He passed Alice's work desk and stared at it for a moment. There was no picture of Alice, or of her lizard (honestly, who dated a chimney sweep lizard? Alice was the one who was insane, not him!). He went behind the desk and sniffed slightly. There wasn't even the faintest hint of her perfume. Had she left? He supposed so. She was apparently 'traumatised' from his hapless attempts at flirting. It was the stupidest thing he had heard in all his life.

Stalking past the table and suddenly feeling disgusted, he walked straight into his old lab. It looked quite dusty and unused but all his things were here, albeit mostly boxed away. _'I bet they were trying to work out what I was doing.' _He smirked maliciously and suddenly imagined himself smoking a hookah and luxuriating in his own genius as others struggled to understand anything he said, because his understanding was so beyond theirs_. 'Like they would ever work it out. No one can comprehend me and my ways. I'm like a riddle, a riddle that seems simple but isn't really. Everyone underestimates me.'_

Two-Face was right, he didn't need a lot. He collected a few papers that contained various diagrams on how to create a small machine, one that could control one's mind fully. After a moment's deliberation he took back a few of his more sensitive plans from other subjects, and then the 'Alice and the Mad Tea Party' poster from the wall.

He exited the building faster than he had entered it, knowing that Two-Face and Sam would leave him behind if he didn't get out within the promised five minute period. He igored Alice's old desk on purpose on the way out.

Outside, the storm broke thoroughly, heavy rain being thrown to the earth by an angry god. Somewhere out there a family Tetch had never known was being mercilessly attacked and brutalised, and some people he did know had been sent into the Lion's Pit.

The storm had arrived in all its furious and violent glory.


	25. Breaking and Entering

**Now Beta'd. As always many thanks to my beta Eeyop :)**

* * *

"I have everything," Tetch said, grinning, suddenly appearing next to the car. The back door opened and Tetch clambered in, liking this car a lot more because he could climb in with some dignity. "Where are we going now?"

"You ask a lot of questions," Sam griped.

"I'm sorry."

"It's fine," said the husky dark voice of Two-Face, who was sitting opposite them and partially obscured in the shadows. "You have a right to know, as you'll be my most important man in the upcoming weeks. It's a new place, somewhere where you'll get all the extra technology you'll need. It used to be one of the Joker's old bases, but Harley, when she joined me temporarily, showed me where it was. It's mine now."

Tetch gulped. "Erm, Mr Joker won't be back for it, will he?" His mind flashed back to the massive grin, the long length of wiry insanity that had held out his claws and called to him in the night. He shuddered.

"That fool can barely remember what he did last week, never mind where one of his old bases is at. You'll be fine, trust me."

There was a small silence in which Tetch felt like he was drowning. He was infinitely scared of Two-Face, and even Sam put him ill at ease. "M-may I ask when we will see the others again?"

Sam chuckled darkly while Two-Face explained. "Their time with us has expired."

The car pulled up at an old deserted alleyway on the outskirts of the city. Sam opened the door and held it for Two-Face.

"What do you mean 'expired'?" Tetch called to the leaving figure.

Sam ducked down and shouted, "He means they're dead meat. Now hurry up and get out, I'm getting soaked here!"

Tetch scrambled out of the car and followed after the other men. "R-really? But I thought they were part of us, part of the gang?"

Two-Face suddenly whirled around and Tetch knew in that moment that he was no longer speaking to Harvey, but to Two-Face. "You think that there is an 'us'?" he growled before letting out a rough laugh that sounded like pieces of charcoal being scrapped and beaten up against each other. "That's hilarious. I get that you look like an overgrown ten-year-old, but you actually seem to think like a kid as well. We need Batman off our cases; we need to keep your little crime," he jabbed Tetch in the chest, "completely out of sight. To do that we need to make sure that Bats and all his army of cops are kept very busy for the next few months. My boys are good at keeping cops and Batman busy. But –," he looked up at the hellish sky, with its shots of electric blue streaks shooting through the black clouds pregnant with stinging, polluted rain water, "people like those guys don't survive nights like this. It isn't just the innocent civilians who die on breakouts; it's the weaker ones from the asylum and Blackgate as well. Nights like these are a sort of reckoning for us. They separate the strong and the weak. The men you met are the weak. Nice guys, nice guys, but weak. If you want to survive being a part of the Rogue Gallery, and I doubt you'll ever be great, you have to learn that there is always, _always_collateral damage." He grabbed Tetch by his upper arm and dragged him into the building through a rusty side door.

Inside, Sam had already switched on the heating and was lighting up a cigarette. Tetch's work was now laid out on a table in the centre of the room.

"Those people would sell you out in a second, Tetch, trust me; it's better to get them than to let them get you."

Later that evening, alone in the rundown cellar, Tetch reflected on those words. Two-Face had left, evidently having things to do and trusting Tetch to stay inside and to get on with things. There was a little room in the back with a bed (in a lurid heart shape – he had been informed that Harley Quinn had probably picked out that piece of furniture) as well as half a dozen old photographs of Quinn and her Mister J. Tetch decided to throw them away later.

At that point in time he was busy working, not on what Two-Face wanted, but on what _he_ wanted. He smirked; it was just like old times. He was the only person in America who knew his specific field; he was a Founding Father in that sense. This meant that it was easy to fool people into thinking he was doing what he was supposed to. Heck, he had gotten away with it in Wayne Enterprises for almost a full year. (In this case, it was now Sam, who was near the door, reading a magazine and paying little attention to Tetch, who was being fooled.)

Tetch was a lot of things, but stupid wasn't one of them. He had learnt a lot from his short stay in Arkham. First of all, with the plan he was beginning to lay it was almost a certainty that he would end up back inside. He knew that in order to survive that place, he would need to get more sophisticated and would need his technology on hand. And that meant designing his devices to be less obvious; he loved his Playing Card design, and there would always be a place in his heart for them, but in Arkham he would need them to be hidden away.

He worked quickly and quietly for a few solid hours, hearing the rain beating down outside, before he finally had a few small prototypes. He grinned goofily, holding them up to the light.

"All I need now is to test them," he whispered to himself, "and I know just how I want to do that."

He went up to Sam naturally, Sam looking up at him at the last moment.

"What is it, Te–?" He didn't finish his query when Tetch placed the small button-like prototype beside his ear. The small mechanism stuck on Sam, making the man immediately grow quiet and compliant.

"Not bad," Tetch said to himself, "but this won't last, it won't stay on him for long. Ok, Sam, I need you to tell me where Bobo and the others are, and if it's too late to save them."

"It's a big heist on the central bank," Sam said tonelessly, his eyes heavily glazed. "It's all flash but no logic, just as the boss wanted. A lot of people will get killed and it'll keep the Bat busy. Bobo and the others won't last very long, even if they get out of the bank, which is programmed to blow up at two a.m.; they will still be caught by the Bat or the cops in no time at all."

"Do they know that it's going to explode?" Tetch glanced at the clock on the wall. It was close to midnight.

"No, none of them know. It's been rigged to look like a job gone wrong, like they put too much dynamite to get into the main safe."

Tetch reached into Sam's pocket and grabbed his car keys. "Thanks, Sam. Now you stay here nicely while I go save who I can."

The storm was still going, but it was more heavy rain than sharp stabs of lightning and roaring of thunder. It was as if the sky was an angry child, first sullen and cloudy in the afternoon, then throwing a violent tantrum in the form of all the light works that was witnessed in the storm, and now it was weeping ardently, defeated but still seething with impotent rage.

Tetch hadn't got any clothes other than the ugly jumpsuit he had been forced in from Arkham. However, Bobo had been kind enough earlier to find him a long mac that held off the wet with limited success. He wrapped it tightly about him as he pocketed the prototype mind controllers and stepped outside.

"_I've only just managed to get a friend_," he decided. _"I'm not willing to give up Bobo. I don't care what Two-Face says, he only sees me as collateral damage as well. It's in my best interests to find Bobo, Wheels and all the other guys, and to make sure they are safe. They will protect me, even if I go back inside."_


	26. Two-face's advice

**A.N.- Another short chapter, but I wanted to up-load it quickly :) Hope this makes up a little for how long you've all had to wait. Btw the QRT are Gotham's Quick Response Team. I do a fair bit of research for this fic y'know ;) Recently I've been looking into the police a lot. Juan is made up, but Nick isn't. As for those missing the claustrophobia of Arkham, don't worry, we will return to Arkham relatively soon, I just needed to toughen Tetch up a bit before sending him back. :) You know this whole story, from Tetch arriving to Arkham until now, has only been two days. :O**

* * *

Gotham's Central Bank was fully surrounded by cops, most of them not even from Gotham but reserves drafted down from surrounding cities. Above them in the rain was a helicopter beaming down light. All around the bank were the flashing lights of Gotham's patrol cars. The negotiators had been brought in to try and keep the hostages inside the bank alive; though many were already dead and the police already had accepted that communication had broken down and that violence was the only response; as the negotiators distracted the irate and panicked criminals, they were working on getting inside the bank without arousing the robbers suspicions.

The man leading the police force was Nicholas Gage. "Have we got any info on these idiots yet?" he asked one of the PC's, Juan Arreola.

"They're all relatively low level Blackgate thugs," answered Juan starring at his laptop screen which showed the unpleasant faces of Geoffrey Diddums (Bobo,) Reggie Stephenson (Wheels), Oscar Wright (Rattlesnake) and Percival Hendrix (Scar.)

"This doesn't make sense, there's no way these kind of things can pull off something like this. They had help." Nick sighed heavily and sipped some of his vile tasting coffee, "nothing about this makes sense. It was a well organised plan at the start, but it's like they lost control midway through, or that they only had half a plan. How they got in was impressive, worthy of a Rogue."

"Well, they're not doing so hot now," answered Juan tartly, "half their hostages are dead and according to the lead negotiator they're panicking and attacking one another. It won't be long before we can take them down."

"Jerry and the QRT are heading over right now, as you can guess they keep getting way-laid by other major happenings. If we had some definitive evidence of Rogue activity we could get the Major Crimes Unit in, but they're too busy trying to round up Rogues." He sighed and sipped his coffee again, eyes glued to the Bank. There were still people alive in there, and while he had a large number of officers, none of them were trained for Rogue activity, if it was Joker, Two Face, Penguin or any of those characters pulling the strings to this circus as soon as he sent men in there they'd be killed.

"_There's civilians and cops being killed all over the city tonight,"_ he thought bitterly_. "If only I could get the hostages out, then we could storm the place and dispatch the Blackgate criminals." He looked up at the dark skies lit up only by the GCPD helicopters, "I need Batman...or any of his people. I need them to take care of any hostages and any Rogue. If only I had a bat-signal."_

"Sir," Juan looked back at him a radio in his hand, "I've just heard that the Organised Crime Control Bureau are sending us some of their negotiators."

"Good, we need some psychological analysis on the situation. In the meantime give me the loudspeaker..."

Inside the bank, Steven, one of the night guards, watched with a palpitating heart as the bank robbers argued amongst themselves.

"Where the hell is he?" roared the weedy guy with the massive scar across his face (Steve was the most afraid of him, he was the one who had killed two of Steve's colleagues, Joe and Marshall,) "he was meant to pick us up an hour ago! Two-Face is gonna kill that guy!"

The fat one who sounded a little slow whimpered, "maybe we should give ourselves up...what if the Batman comes."

"Shut up Bobo! We do as we were told, we stay here until Sam shows up!" Rattlesnake brushed his hand through greasy, slicked-back hair, "Scar, stop it," he warned, glancing over at sociopath who was now staring down at a gagged and tied up Steve, "we can't afford more dead hostages because you're pissed."

"We should have made a break for it an hour ago like I said!" bit out Wheels who was picking his nails with his knife, "I can drive better than Sam, there was no need to wait. The cops or the Bat probably got him on his way here. We should have left."

"Just shut up!"

"Hey," Scar squared up to Rattlesnake, "who the fuck do you think you are, telling us to shut up? You aint the boss here!"

"I'm the smartest guy here," Rattlesnake responded, not blinking once even as he felt the hot breath of the irate Scar blowing onto his face, "and that means that I have the most say in what goes on. If we had left earlier, Two Face would kill us for insubordination, you know that, now sit the fuck down."

There was a tense moment of absolute silence before Scar took a step back and spat on the floor before stalking away, giving Wheels a friendly clap on the shoulder as he did.

Steve glanced over at his surviving friends, Tyrone, Bill, Li and Becca. They were all tied up the same way he was, and all looked just as scared. There was only one thing worse than being in a bank and held hostage by competent robbers, being in the same situation but having panic-ridden incompetents instead.

Scar ambled up to the main safe. There was some dynamite at its bottom. They were meant to blow the whole thing up seventy-five minutes ago, but the explosives simply hadn't worked. All in all it had been pretty embarrassing, they were expecting a huge explosion and had hidden themselves away, but instead there was a small whimper as the flame died amongst the dead dynamite and a wisp of smoke, like the soul of the small flame floating up to heaven.

"_Maybe we should just pile on more dynamite,"_ he thought, _"just load the damn thing up. Two-Face gave us more than enough anyway. I did wonder why he gave us so much and told us only to use a little. He must have known the dynamite was shit. Goddamn Rogues, I'll never work with 'em again!" _But even as he thought that, he knew it wasn't true. Once you were on a Rogue's radar they tended to never let you go. And it could have been worse, whilst Two-Face was extremely difficult to work with (Scar often felt emotionally exhausted after a few hours with the man) at least he wasn't trapped with the likes of the Joker or Ivy, who tortured and killed their own men, or the likes of Penguin, who usually ended up making them get dressed in some ridiculous out-fit. True, Two-Face had a degree of class and you could survive him if you were smart and on the ball.

Scar looked back at the dynamite. It was weird, Two-Face didn't usually make mistakes. What was happening here?

Just then he heard the Officer from outside calling on the loudspeaker, "ok guys, we're getting some negotiators to give you a call. We don't want anyone else to die. We want to resolve this peacefully and quickly. We are willing to give into to some of your demands, you just name 'em when we call. If you kill any more hostages we will revoke this and storm the bank." There was a brief pause before, "we know that you are working for a Rogue, and we know that something is wrong. If you give us the Rogue, we'll be more inclined to help you folk out. We'll be in touch."

"That was a risky move sir," said Juan, looking anxious. The vast array of officers shuffled nervously about him.

"I know it was," answered Nick, "but I need this situation over and done with quickly. There are a thousand crimes going on right now and more important places we could all be. Something has gone wrong tonight, and I feel like we're being tricked and I don't like it. So, I felt like I needed to do something. Hopefully the hostages won't pay the price."

Juan nodded and hoped so himself. They had already lost good men at Arkham, he didn't want guards dead as well.


	27. The Bank Job

**Authors Note- This hasn't been beta'd yet, so it's still quite rough and there may be spelling errors. However, it will be beta'd and re-written soon. In the meantime, I didn't want to leave you all waiting even longer, so here is the pre-rewrite version. Hope you all had a great x-mas.**

**QRT- The Quick Response Team- these are a section of the police force that deal with urgent matters. Ironically the cops here are waiting for them, because as the Arkhamites have broken out, there are several emergencies happening all over Gotham.**

* * *

_Last time: There was a plan to have Scar, Bobo, Rattlesnake and Wheels killed in a botched bank heist whilst Two-Face and Steven got Tetch to get on with the real plan, namely Tetch building a mysterious device for Two-Face. Tetch, distrusting Two-Face and believing that it would be wise to make allies with Bobo and the others, goes to rescue his hapless colleagues who are currently fighting one another and deciding how to get themselves out of the bank unscathed._

* * *

The journey to Gotham's Central Bank was bizarre. Tetch walked quickly through narrow black streets that were covered in litter and rain water mixed with blood. On every other corner there was a body stuffed in to a corner somewhere.

"_The homeless,"_ he thought, "_the homeless and anyone without friends from Arkham. They had nowhere to hide when the patients of Arkham escaped."_

It was a scary thought, the idea that whenever Arkham had a mass breakout it was essentially open season on the vulnerable.

As well as the wreckage of human life, there were cars left ruined and steaming along the roads. In some of them there were bodies of families who had tried to escape, or bullet holes in the sides of black European cars which had no doubt been robbed or targets for hit-men.

As he drew closer to the Bank he could hear the noise of hundreds of officers loitering outside and helicopters and blimps flying overhead. The sky became lit up with the lights of sirens and the beams of the blimps and cop-copters.

"_Now I need to think of how to get in,"_ he told himself, watching the events from behind a building a safe distance away. _"There's too many people to use my devices on."_ He felt his pocket. He only had three devices, considering the time he had to make them, he hadn't done too badly. "_They don't call me a genius for nothing,"_ he preened momentarily_, "and now I have to think like a criminal genius. I could use the sewers to go in underground but the police will already have them being observed expecting a possible attempted escape from Bobo and the others using that route. I could try infiltrating from above," _he looked up at the huge gothic building, flecks of the rain being highlighted beautifully by the beams of light curtsey of the cops, _"but the lights would show me up. I'm not Batman, I can't hide in shadows. But what about hiding in plain sight? Maybe,"_ he lowered his gaze to the dozens of unwitting officers, _"maybe I can infiltrate them. There's an hour before the whole place goes up in flame and smoke. I need to get in before then and get out with them in tow. No doubt the police are thinking of storming the place at some point. I need more information."_

He walked around the edges of the police force, looking strangely predatory, before sighting one officer. The petit man was quite young and standing right at the edge of the circle of officers. He was leaning against his car, not even looking at the Bank and sipping a coffee. He looked tired and bored.

Tetch smirked. _Perfect_.

He inched over to the man looking suspicious. The officer noted him almost straight away and raised an eyebrow. Tetch looked around and then motioned for the officer to come closer.

The man rolled his eyes, but went over to Tetch.

"What do you want?" he asked, not bothering the keep his voice down but it drowning over the noise of the copters anyway.

"I've got some info on the goons in there," said Tetch, "but if I tell you I want you to look after me when I go back inside."

The officer noticed Tetch's jumpsuit under the anorak and smirked. "A snitch eh? Fair enough, what do ya wanna say?"

"Come closer."

"I have a gun," the officer bit out, his voice wavering slightly. As par the course with a Arkham break out, the police were on high alert and paranoia was strife.

"Then get it out," Tetch smiled and allowed himself a small shrug. "I'm not going to hurt you."

The man bit the inside of his cheek and put a hand to his gun before walking up to Tetch. Tetch got on his tip toes and raised his hand as if to whisper in the officer's ear, but instead planted one of the devices on to the back of his neck.

The man's eyes immediately went black. Tetch led him away quickly and silently into the shadows, in an alley way between two buildings behind the bank. He then ordered the officer to take off his clothes. Tetch put on the uniform, which was inevitably too big but was small enough to not be noticeable. In turn the officer put on Tetch's jumpsuit.

Tetch contemplated knocking the man out, but didn't like the idea of violence, so instead said, "knock yourself out."

Taking the chip off the officer's then unconscious body, we walked into the crowd of Officers, keeping his cap low so as to cover his face.

He grabbed a coffee the officer had left on the car and nonchalantly walked up to an officer asking in his best American –Gotham accent, "so what's going on? Are we busting this tonight or should I set up camp here?"

The officer let out a bark of a laugh, "the boss says we're going in as soon as the Quick Response Team send in one of their negotiators to distract them, but God knows how long we'll be waiting for them to turn up."

Tetch nodded, gave the officer a friendly pat on the arm. He walked into the centre of the police force keeping a sharp look out until at long last he spotted Gage, head of the police force, standing up front with a coffee in one hand and a loud speaker in the other. Tetch grinned and began to stalk towards the man.

There were up-sides to being quite small and dressed the same as everyone else, it meant you were easily hidden from sight, even without actually hiding.

He tapped Nicholas Gage on the shoulder with a polite, "sir."

Nick turned and leaned down to listen to Tetch who leaned up and slyly placed a device on Nick's neck before whispering, "we need to attack now sir. The Rogues are here. You need to kill everyone that tries to stop you or everyone good will die."

He moved quickly, going to the very forefront and Nick straightened back up, looking mildly vacant but troubled.

"Everyone get ready!" he suddenly shouted, making the officers suddenly stand to attention, looking surprised and spilling their various hot drinks. "We've got no more time to wait!" he continued to cry out, "I want shields up here! We're going in now!"

"But sir," exclaimed Juan "what about the negotiators and the QRT, I thought you said we had to wait?"

"No time!" yelled Nick running to the front, next to Tetch, and getting out his gun, "no time! No time!"

Without their usual organisation, more akin to a medieval warriors running to the enemy, the police suddenly began to run into the Bank. All the officers were confused and most were spooked by the potential of any Rogue activity and therefore eager to shoot and kill. Within a few minutes several men had fallen to the floor and were being trampled on by their Brother in Arms.

Gage pounded against the wooden doors.

One officer grabbed his shoulder, forcing him to turn around, "what are you doing?" he cried, "sir, what are you...!"

The man never got to finish because Gage immediately shot him in the stomach. The officer fell, his mouth open in shock, and Gage shot him in the head, finally killing him.

"He was working with the Rogue," explained gage almost robotically, "it's happening boys, we need to get in there now! This is our duty! This is an emergency! Anyone against us is with the enemy!"

At once the force broke into two factions, most stayed with Gage, knowing him to be a trusted leader, and began to throw themselves at the door, beating it down and kicking at it, trying to get in more quickly. A few others though, realising something was wrong, began to run to police cars to call for help and back up. This meant that they were taken as being enemies, and a few officers began to shoot at them. This caused more arguments and confusion as partners began to argue or defend one another and soon the whole force was a mess of firing guns, misunderstandings and panic.

PC Juan, one of the smarter officers, had climbed into the police van almost as soon as Gage had gone running towards the Bank and causing considerable trouble within the ranks.

"What's going on?" cried a voice over the radio… It was one of the police pilots from the helicopter, "what the hell are you all doing? Has something happened?"

"Something has happened!" cried Juan, leaping onto the speaker and watching the officers outside either running away or attacking one another in a fit of paranoid fear, "something is very wrong with Gage, he suddenly just began to attack! I don't understand he was fine a minute ago! Now there's panic, everyone is panicking! It's insane!"

In the middle of the melee he had caused, Tetch clambered up some of the other officers to reach towards a window ledge. He looked at the hundreds of officers which were now a sea of confusion, and chuckled slightly, it didn't take much. The paranoia of being a cop in Gotham was enough stress, added to that the pressure of escaped rogues meant that Gotham's police force, as damaged and corrupt as it was, was a powder keg of chaos and death.

The instrument on Gage wouldn't last too long and the chances were that back in the hide out Sam had already awoken from his hypnosis, the chances were that if dent did't already know what he was up to, that he would soon. Tetch turned on the ledge and inspected the glass. It was reinforced, but getting out the gun from his holster a few shots defeated the glass. He used the butt of the gun to get the few shards away before hauling himself into the bank.

Inside was a dark blue. To his right were the large oak doors of the ancient bank. The doors were being smashed against. He could even hear a few shots ringing out. It wouldn't be long until the crazed police force got in. It was likely someone had seen in climbing through the window and more would follow. He could see three hostages on the ground, bound and gagged and all terrified. He ignored them and ran further into the bank to where he saw his Bobo and the others.

"We need to get out now!" he yelled at them, "you've been tricked, this whole place is going to blow in ten minutes!"

The men looked at one another, clearly doubting Tetch, except Bobo who just stood blinking stupidly. Tetch sighed harshly, "stay if you want you fools, but Bobo, you must come with me! Come with me!" He ran up to Bobo and, with his last device, placed it on Bobo's wrist. At once the stupid man's already blank eyes became even emptier and his body slackened slightly.

"What have you done to him?" asked Rattlesnake, distaste evident in his voice. He eyed Tetch, as if he suddenly began to think that the little man might actually be a sort of threat.

"I'm getting him out of here."

Tetch ran taking Bobo with him just as the doors broke down and Gage arrived, his army of officers behind him, guns blazing. Rattlesnake ran out with his shotgun and was immediately shot to death by several cops. The others ran, following after Tetch and Bobo.

The hostages, forgotten on the floor, scrambled out of the way of the police, worming their way towards the walls and praying they would not get trampled by the stampeding officers.

"_We need to get out through the sewers,"_ thought Tetch as he led the Blackgate thugs down the corridor towards the toilets following the signs, _"as now everyone will be too distracted to pay attention to them and they will probably be the safest place to be when the bank explodes."_

In most buildings, entrance to sewers would be in the lowest section, in the basement, but Tetch knew that all the safes and money were down in the basement, and no bank would be stupid enough to put an entry from the outside there. So the safest bet was the bathrooms.

"I knew something like this was happening!" bit out Scar bitterly as they entered the bathrooms, "what the fuck are we meant to do now?"

"We can escape through the sewers," said Tetch, "that grate there," he nodded towards a row of urinals, below them was a long, narrow grate where all the piss would drain though into the sewers, "can you make that bigger, perhaps with a stick of dynamite?"

"It's big enough for us to get down." He crouched down and ripped up the grating with the help of Wheels.

"It is for us but not for Bobo."

"Well too fucking bad for the fatso!" barked Wheels harshly. The men got the grate up and, ignoring the stench, smashed in the lower grates which opened up into a winder square which they could climb into.

Tetch grit his teeth. He had no more devices for mind control. There was only one thing he could do now.

"Do it, or I'll shoot."

Wheels, who was already partially in the hole, and Scar looked up to see Tetch holding a gun to them.

The first reaction of Scar was to laugh. This made Tetch fire a warning shot. "The cops will come running if we do that again," he panted, "they're looking for us. I suggest you do as I say, get a stick of dynamite and make that hole big enough for Bobo to get down as well." The men continued to stare, perhaps partially out of shock, and Tetch, his eyes growing colder said slowly and in a robotic voice that almost wasn't his own, "I consider you disposable. Go do as I say or I'll kill you."

"Oh fuck this shit," snarled Wheels, who immediately disappeared down the hole, escaping Tetch and the officers.

Scar was not so lucky. Tetch would shoot him dead before he would have time to go down the hole. Instead he held up his hands, watching Tetch like a snake. "Fine, it's fine little man, don't worry. I have a few small sticks on me. It's my speciality you see. But those officers hear this blast, they'll come for us, they'll know we're down this hole." He glanced at Bobo, "you'd be better off leaving him behind and coming with me and Wheels, we're smarter and could work better for you."

"It's not about that, blow it up now, we're running low on time!"

Scar shook his head and began to take out a few small sticks, placing them around the square hole and lighting then, "you'll never become one of the greats," he muttered and stood back.

The explosion was small and smoky, but loud enough to garner the attention of Gage and his men.

Tetch, Scar and Bobo climbed into the hole quickly just as the officers came piling into the toilets, but before they could go after the criminals, the rigged bank finally blew.

* * *

**A.N.- It's a running theme in my chapters, that in nearly all of them situations escalate really, really quickly. Most of them I think I have pulled off ok, as I'm usually dealing with high strung characters, but this chapter...hmmm... I dunno.**

** I think I did a disservice to police here, by making them panic so quickly. In the comics I've read and the films I've watched, the cops in Gotham are usually portrayed n two very different ways, as being either seriously incompetent and corrupt, or as very good and moral. I went with the former here but think that is wrong, as in previous chapters I have them as pretty honourable, just out-numbered and frightened****.**

** I've actually been staring at this chapter for about two weeks, but I felt guilty about not up-dating, so here it is, but hopefully you'll all see why I didn't want to upload it. It's a very flawed chapter. **

**Well, it's for me to agonise over, and if I do change significant elements, I'll let you all know. In the meantime, next chapter will focus on Tetch and his little band of not-so merry men, and the possible fall-out of his decision to save them.**


End file.
